


Of Wolves and Wisps

by VulpesVulpes713



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Brave (2012) Fusion, Brave AU, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Keith/Lance (Voltron), Fae & Fairies, Fate, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Fluff, Lance (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Magic, Marriage Contracts, Mentions of hunting, Minor Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Oblivious Lance (Voltron), POV Lance (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Slow Burn Keith/Lance (Voltron), Trans Pidge | Katie Holt, Wolves, direwolves, klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-01-15 08:49:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 145,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18495520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpesVulpes713/pseuds/VulpesVulpes713
Summary: Lance knows not to seek with his mind in the woods. The fae have a habit of twisting the desires sought by those who chase after the wisps. But when given no other choice, Lance makes the decision to alter his path. To change his fate.He should have known, really, how things would turn out.Never call out to wolves. One may just answer.





	1. The Fire Waters

**Author's Note:**

> The Brave Au I hinted at on my Tumblr! Man this chapter was a fight to write but I'm hoping you all enjoy it and I can't wait to bring in more of the story!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The characters and setting of this story are fictional. Any similarities to real people and places are entirely coincidental. This is a fantasy alternate universe fic based loosely on the plot from the movie Brave.

There's a legend in the country he grew up in: a story told to children before bed to keep them safe beneath the covers.

 

The details are vague now that he's older and outgrowing such fantasies, but he recalls something about not wandering out at night.

 

Something about being wary of strange creatures in the trees and beautiful beings who speak in riddles.

 

Something about magic: of wolves and wisps and wishes in the woods.

 

Utter nonsense, really.

 

Lance rolls his eyes as he listens to his mother's voice echo softly down the hall, repeating the story to his sisters, who are of an age where dreams and truths are still blurred.

 

He grins at the tiny gasps that follow a hushed warning of stone circles at dawn, hoping they'll remain at that age for a while longer.

 

 _I wonder if I was like that as well,_ he thinks as he hovers by the doorway leading into their room. Candlelight throws shadows into the hallway, and Lance stifles a chuckle as he watches his mother raise her arms and tower down over his siblings.

 

“It is for this reason we do not seek with our minds once in the forest,” she speaks clearly: an order more so than a story. “The old magics will twist those desires to mimic any darkness it finds within us. It will change the wishes, the wants, the needs, until all that is left is a shell of what we once were.”

 

Her arms lower, shadow merging with her chest as her hand must go to the place of which she speaks next.

 

“It is our hearts we must trust. Only the heart knows our true desires. Only the heart can change our fates.” She sighs then, and Lance just barely catches her next words.

 

“Sleep now, wee bairns, and let your hearts guide your dreams.”

 

“But what of the wolf?” one of his sisters asks. Saoirse: the youngest of the triplets. “Won’t he come for us?”

 

Lance smiles at her innocence, reminded of the legends of a massive direwolf who ravaged the lands prior to their clan driving it out: the mighty Mac Tíre, who united the packs and murdered without remorse.

 

 _It was as large as the stone ridges that border the Somerisles, with eyes of blood red to symbolize the many who tried - and failed - to face it,_ Lance recalls from the tales. _Some say on nights when the moon is hidden and the skies are black, howls of the great beast can be heard echoing over the hills of the mainlands: Mac Tíre’s call to his brethren. A summoning to gather once again._

 

It’s a silly superstition, made even more so by the knowledge Lance has of his own father working tirelessly to hunt down the packs thought to be born of the mighty direwolf, uniting the clans to drive the beasts out. In the end, there had been only wolves, and the monster who had supposedly brought them together was nowhere to be found.

 

_At least not around here. The Northern Spurs are another story._

 

Lance rolls his eyes at the thought. Of all the clans, the Koganes would be the ones to harbour such a monstrosity: wolf-loving pacifists as they are.

 

 _If ever the legends were true, I wouldn’t doubt they had a hand in it all,_ he finds himself thinking, and then shakes his head with a huff. _But there’s no such thing as direwolves with eyes of red who stalk the nights when the shadows are darkest. So who cares?_

 

Still, even with that fact solid as the ground beneath his feet, there are nights when Lance is kept awake by gusts of wind that carry a faint reminder of wolf cries. Memories from when he was a child, back when the beasts still roamed the wilds.

 

There’s a dream he often has of a moment from when he was too young to remember fully. He had been hiding from his mother in the woods - a game at the time - when a large wolf with grey fur and startling blue eyes had approached from the thickets. It had stared at him, snarling and hungry, edging closer with ears back as it smelled the air. Lance doesn’t recall being frightened, but his mother had been when she’d found him reaching out to pet it, hand only inches from the open mouth of the animal.

 

The rest is a blur: a knife thrown that kept the wolf at bay, a scream as arms carried him to safety, a flash of grey as the beast ran off in the woods - the last wolf Lance ever saw in the wilds. But despite the haze of the memory, every time he is woken by the sound of a piercing howl as his father chased after the beast. It’s a pained cry that fades as he leaves the dream and returns to reality, eyes blinking open with tears, though he never knows why.

 

_Likely because I could have died that day, had I not been found. Wolves eat children, or so the stories go._

 

His father rallied the clans after that: Lance’s encounter the catalyst that would lead to the near eradication of the species in their lands.

 

“He will not find you,” he hears his mother reassure, voice retrieving him from his recollections, and he wonders why she chose such words. Why not insist the mighty direwolf dead? Why pretend he’s even _real?_ Then again, his mother had lived in the regions close to the Northern Spurs as a child, where the rumours of Mac Tíre were weighted by a heavier belief. She continues with an air of wisdom, tone knowing as she explains.

 

“He only hunts those who have tempted the fates - who call out to him. He is drawn to the darkness in their thoughts and in their hearts. Stay true to yourselves and others and his eyes will not find you in the night.”

 

 _Oh, that’s why,_ Lance nods in sudden understanding, pushing away from the wall. _It’s not because she believes in the beast, but rather because she wishes to keep those three behaving. To frighten them into listening._

 

He wonders if the same tricks had worked on him, not catching the final warning his mother gives as he steps away on the most silent of stones.

 

 _For a time, perhaps,_ he admits as he sneaks back down the hallway towards the stairs that will lead him to the training yards. He’s not supposed to be out there - not at this time of night when the guards are on timed shifts and his parents can’t keep a watchful eye on him - but it’s the only time he can practice without criticism.

 

The only time he can focus without fear of princely presentation.

 

The only time he can shoot as freely as he wishes.

 

He tucks his bow deeper into the folds of his cloak and smirks to himself as he edges through the castle, fingers anticipating the pull of the string and the hum of the arrow as it flies out towards the targets reserved for their warriors. Not the prince. Brighid forbid the _prince_ practice archery in his spare time.

 

He reaches the bottom step and sneaks away from the shelter of the walls, the door sliding closed behind him with a practiced silence. Lance inhales deeply once outside, head tilting up to the sky - dark and starless as it is - and feels his heart begin to race.

 

It’s the perfect night for training, despite a wind that gusts with an uneven tempo. But that’s fine. Lance can compensate for it. In fact, he welcomes the added challenge the elements may have against his arrows.

 

 _It’s better if there’s less control anyway. No battles are fought on perfect, sunny days._ He pulls his hood up to merge with the stone of the walls, creeping along the edges towards the far end of the yards. _And wolves do not abide by the laws of the breeze._

 

As if in reply, a jaunty gale plays with the fabric of his cloak, tousling his hair and sounding vaguely like howling as it whistles through the trees. Lance shivers when it passes - a feeling of eyes on his back spying from the shadows.

 

But he ignores the responding panic and continues his path towards the training grounds. Wolves no longer hunt in the woods around his home. His father and the surrounding chiefs made sure of that.

 

 _The only places they still remain are in the farthest forests to the north,_ he reminds himself again. _Protected by clan Kogane and a fragile treaty to seize hunting at the borders of their lands. Wolves are no longer a problem-_

 

“And direwolves don’t exist,” he states out loud, glancing up at the sky where the moon should be. The breeze toys with the flags that carry the colours of the McClains: blue and navy tartan that he sports beneath his cloak.

 

The colours of his family.

 

The colours the other clans uphold and respect.

 

The colours that act as royalty amongst the peoples of this land.

 

The colours that vanquished the wolf packs and brought peace to all.

 

_That’s right. We drove the monsters out. And I’m not afraid of a myth._

 

The wind howls in the distance - another response to thoughts left unspoken - but Lance doesn’t hear it. His mind is elsewhere as the targets come into view, grin eager as his hands wrap around the curved surface of his bow.

 

But were he paying attention, he would see that the wind he hears leaves no trace in the leaves. Branches do not bend as it sings through the forest. Flags remain motionless as it echoes over the valley.

 

The night is still, and yet the howling persists.

 

But Lance doesn’t hear it - chooses _not_ to in the end - and the call goes unanswered.

 

* * *

 

“Wake up lad!”

 

The words are sudden and harsh - a near perfect match to the sunlight that pours into the room as Coran draws back the curtains of Lance's chambers.

 

“The day is young!”

 

“So am I,” Lance grumbles back, tugging the blankets of his bed up and over his face. “S'too early.”

 

“Not for a prince it’s not,” Coran fires back, yanking Lance’s attempted sanctuary away. Cool morning air rushes to greet the warmth that had collected beneath the covers, and Lance shivers at its enthusiasm. “Besides, the Queen wished to speak with you about something. The annual hunt is tomorrow and-”

 

Lance shoots up in bed, startling Coran into silence.

 

“It’s tomorrow!?” he blurts, and Coran blinks his way back to composure.

 

“Yes, but-”

 

Lance doesn’t wait for him to finish. He bolts out of bed, exchanging his nightwear for trousers, boots, and a loose jacket that he pulls over his shirt. Coran splutters all the while, but Lance ignores his attempts at conversation.

 

Because if the annual hunt - the celebration of clans to honour the day Lance’s father united them - is tomorrow, then that means _today_ is-

 

“Happy birthday!”

 

The door swings open and three pairs of arms wrap around Lance’s middle, nearly toppling him over in their enthusiasm. He laughs as his sisters giggle and shriek - barefoot with unkempt manes of brown curls crowding him - and bends to return their hug.

 

“You remembered!”

 

“Of course!” Lydia - the oldest of the three - chirps. “We’re gonna make you cakes and pastries!”

 

“You will? By yourselves?”

 

“Well…” Saoirse drawls, rolling her eyes with a mischievous grin. _“Someone’s_ gonna make em. We’re gonna _steal em!”_

 

“How thoughtful of you!” Lance chuckles, standing. “And you even waited until I was awake. Unlike... _some_ people.” He shoots Coran a look, who harrumphs as he folds his arms over his chest.

 

“I did not forget what day it is, Highness, but the Queen asked I retrieve you-”

 

“Nope, not happening!” Lance squirms his way out of the triplets grasp, fetching his bow and a satchel of arrows from a hook by his door. “You heard the princesses. Today is my birthday, which means I am allowed to do _whatever_ I please with _no_ interference. Not even mum.”

 

“But I must-”

 

“Farewell!” Lance cuts Coran off with a zealous wave before dashing into the hallway - his sisters laughing at the string of curses that follow him out. “I’ll be back later!”

 

 _Maybe..._ he adds on with a smirk, sprinting through the castle towards the stables. _But if mum wishes to speak with me then perhaps I’ll take my time returning._

 

Because it’s always something with her. Either a lesson to be taught or a rule to be reminded of. A council that required his presence or a day spent cooped up in one of the towers learning the histories of their people. There were only rare occasions he was allowed to spar with their warriors or go riding in the hills alongside his father - those manners of tradition apparently too unbecoming of the future king.

 

 _“It is unnecessary for you to be out rolling in filth,”_ his mother would scold whenever the topic was brought up. _“Besides, we have men who will protect you. There is no need to learn how to fight, much less wield a bow in battle. A prince must be presentable. Someone to admire and respect, not frolic with in muck.”_

 

To which Lance would attempt arguing back, saying that learning to fend for himself was a skill he should possess and _honour,_ not shame, but it was pointless when the clans had known peace for so many years, united against a common enemy. The time for wars was passing, and it was Lance’s duty to maintain the treaties his father had struck.

 

Which meant training in etiquette and negotiation, not striking foes from the backs of horses.

 

The only reason he was still permitted lessons in swordcraft and archery was thanks to the threat of wolves, though seeing one these days was as rare as witnessing a wisp. The creatures were slowly passing into myth, but the fear of Mac Tíre and his packs of old was still prevalent enough amongst those living in the valley that his mother had agreed when Lance had brought up the beasts.

 

He'd been so relieved when she had relented that he’d almost felt _grateful_ to the creatures for giving him the excuse he’d needed to practice with his bow.

 

_Nothing like taking advantage of motherly woes to get my way._

 

Still, Lance worries a day will come when the last wolf pelt is brought to his father. A day where his freedoms will end and he’ll be trapped in the castle behind piles of scrolls with writings he does not care enough to read.

 

A day where he will be forced into the role of the prince that his mother is so desperate to see.

 

 _But those are troubles for another morning,_ Lance decides as he slows to a walk, peeking around the corner of the hall to ensure he’s alone. His birthday is the only time of year he’s given off from his princely tasks and chores, and he intends to use it all as wisely as possible.

 

Which means getting out of the castle pronto, and avoiding any who may try to stop him.

 

He elects to avoid the front entrance hall, hopping up onto the largest window ledge overlooking the courtyard. He pries open the shutter and slips through outside, shimmying over to the outer wall and grinning at the rising sun painting his home in warm yellows and golds.

 

It's a beautiful day. A pristine morning. And the wind from last night has settled to a pleasant breeze.

 

 _Today I'll make the climb,_ Lance thinks with determination. _Today I'll drink from the fire waters of the Altea Range, like the kings of old._

 

He uses strategic footholds to scale down the stones until he’s close enough to jump to solid ground, and without wasting a moment he dashes off to where Kalte is waiting in her pen.  

 

“Mornin’ girl,” he greets as he approaches, smiling as his horse lifts her mighty head and glances his way. “Ready for a run?”

 

Kalte whinnies when Lance grabs her bridle, fitting it over the dark grey nose that is shoved into his face with a snort.

 

“Pfft, hello to you too,” he chuckles, pushing her head aside to fit the reigns over her neck. That’s all he needs for riding, finding the saddle too restricting. “We’re going somewhere special today. This may be my only chance to do it.”

 

And with that, he hoists himself up onto her back, clicking his tongue to spur her into motion. She reacts accordingly and gallops towards the front gates before breaking into a run - completely unacceptable any other day - over the bridge that leads out into the hills. Lance holds on with his legs, beaming widely as the wind rushes through his hair and stings his eyes.

 

 _This_ is what it means to feel alive. _This_ is what it means to be a McClain: riding off into the wilds with nothing but his bow and his wits, not stuffed away in the darkness learning to read maps of lands he’ll never get to explore. _This_ is what it should mean to be a prince: making his own decisions and living his own life.

 

_Perhaps when I am king I’ll be able to live this way forever._

 

But he doubts it, especially if his mother has anything to say about the matter. Again though, those are troubles for another time, and Lance closes his eyes to let Kalte lead the way. He just needs to feel her muscles beneath him -  hear her breathing as she runs.

 

The sun is warm on his face, and Lance inhales the scent of fresh summer dew and sap from the trees as they near the borders of the forest. Kalte doesn’t slow as they barrel into the woods - hooves knowing where to land against a path well-worn from years of use - but as the shade darkens the shadows behind Lance’s lids, he opens his eyes and lets his fingers dance over the feathers of the arrows at his hip.

 

_Any second now…_

 

_There!_

 

He pulls the arrow free and fits it to his bowstring - drawing back and timing Kalte's rises and falls as he aims.

 

Inhale. One eye closed. Pause and…

 

Release. The arrow flies from his bow and hits the target he'd strung up between two branches of a nearby oak years before: center worn down from use.

 

Adrenaline courses into Lance's veins as he draws back another arrow, aiming off to his left and releasing as the next target comes into view.

 

_Thunk._

 

Steel against wood: it hits precisely in the center. Lance grins and whoops enthusiastically, the echo of his voice sending a group of nearby ravens up into the sky.

 

 _This is how I wish to live,_ he thinks as he draws back again. And again. And _again!_ Each arrow landing where he wills it. Each target flying back from the force he sends its way.

 

He was born for this, really. If only his mother thought the same.

 

 _This is what I would choose for myself,_ Lance confesses, stomach flipping as Kalte jumps over a log and they soar up into the air - weightless as they move as one - Lance's arrow finding its place in the red circle he'd painted on a branch above them. _This is where I belong. If only I could change my fate-_

 

He breaks off as something catches his eye in the depths of the trunks, urging Kalte to a stop as he glances back over his shoulder.

 

He waits, listening...but there's nothing out of the ordinary.

 

_Perhaps I imagined it?_

 

But no...blue was not a colour often glimpsed in the woods, and Lance is _sure_ that's what he had seen.

 

He opens his mouth to call out but hesitates as the words of his mother surface.

 

_“We do not seek with our minds once in the forest.”_

 

 _Right..._ Lance swallows and turns away, breathing deeply to calm his nerves.

 

As much as he doubts the legends of giant direwolves with red eyes, Lance is not fool enough to tempt the fae. Nor insult them. Nor draw their attentions.

 

It's best to keep quiet, regardless of what he'd witnessed, so he motions Kalte onward and blames the sunlight in the leaves for playing tricks on his eyes.

 

The last thing he needs is an encounter with the ancient magics. He has enough people meddling with his life as is.

 

So he rides, and shoots, and grows more at ease with each arrow finding its mark.

 

 _Even if it had been something, I’m not defenseless,_ he reminds himself as his bowstring vibrates reassuringly against his cheek. _I can handle myself._

 

When Kalte reaches a break in the path Lance urges her to the left - away from the castle and towards the mountains that border their lands from the north and run eastward to the Somerisles.

 

He sees their peaks in the distance, smirking as he picks out the jagged edge of the shard he plans on climbing.

 

Marmora's Blade: where the waterfalls of melted ice are cold enough to burn hotter than tempered steel.

 

Legend holds that it was the wise King Alfor who first tasted those waters, giving him the courage to cross the mountains and bring his people to the new lands of the Somerisles.

 

Others say it was the prince of clan Gane that braved them before any other, fleeing the Highland throne to live his life in the untamed wilds of the Northern Spurs. Lance had never much liked that version of the tale as a child, but now that he's older he can better understand the decision that had been made.

 

_I wonder if he too had a mother who controlled every aspect of his life. But to live in the winterlands? Where wolves run rampant and uncontrolled?_

 

_No thanks._

 

He wonders - should the legends be true - what the then prince would think of his heirs providing sanctuary to such beasts. The Koganes and Shiroganes and the islanders who broke away from the traditions to name themselves the Kon's…

 

All the northern families carried symbols of the wolf in their crests and a similar red tartan to symbolize the eyes of Mac Tíre.

 

Well...not really. That was just a rumour the other clans liked to believe.  

 

Still.

 

 _He'd probably be insulted,_ Lance guesses as the shadows of the mountains grow nearer. _To think his name would be held by those who care more for wild animals than their own people-_

 

Again, something catches his eye, but Lance doesn’t slow this time. In fact, he pushes Kalte faster, resisting the urge to look behind and see if the blue orb is still there.

 

 _It’s nothing,_ he repeats in his head. _Nothing. Nothing. Just focus on the mountain._

 

So he does, and the sun is high in the sky when we finally reaches its base. Thunderous chorus echos out from the peaks and down over the hills Lance had come from: the sound of the waterfall hidden from view by the mass of Marmora’s Blade. It’s a monotonous vibration that settles deep in his core, and Lance takes a few moments to appreciate it before dismounting.

 

It’s not an easy climb from what he can see, but he isn’t about to turn back now. He’s here for a reason, as drinking from the fire waters on the eighteenth year of birth are a right of passage for princes and princesses alike: an unofficial test all of royal blood must pass to prove themselves worthy of the crown.

 

But more than that it’s a sign of goodwill in the fates: a blessing by the spirits of old. Lance is not about to give up such an opportunity over a hypothetical fear of heights.

 

“I can do this,” he mumbles under his breath, and when Kalte nudges him with her nose he nods and grins, repeating the mantra louder. “I can do this! I'm Lance of clan McClain and I _will_ drink the fire waters of Marmora's Blade!”

 

And with that he tosses aside his cloak and bow, cracking his knuckles as he ogles the best footholds.

 

“Here we go.”

 

Initially, it's not that bad. Easy even. But as he gains height Lance realizes that ease had been a result of an assurance of safety. The consequences of falling escalated from a bruised ego to a broken leg to possible death in a matter of minutes, but still he climbed.

 

“Just don't look down. Look up. Find the next place for your hand. Make sure it's secure. _Climb._ ”

 

He announces every action, finding the commentary helps distract from the growing sense of vertigo.

 

Kalte whinnies everytime his foot slips or a rock tumbles down from a spot on a ledge his hand temporarily claims, and Lance tries to ignore the decreasing volume of each worried neigh the higher he gets.

 

He focuses on the roar of the waterfall - growing deafening as he climbs - to drown out his fears. He imagines the euphoria he’ll experience once at the top, anticipating the waters he's soon to taste.

 

 _Almost there_ , he thinks with every inch gained. _Almost there._

 

Eventually the words hold true, and Lance pulls himself up to the surprisingly flat peak of Marmora's Blade.

 

He'd been expecting something more jagged and sharp, given the name, but being able to lay back and catch his breath has him grateful it’s not.

 

When he's able to breathe evenly Lance beams, sitting up to stare down over the valley. It's the first time he's allowed himself to do so, and _Brighid be blessed_ _what a sight!_

 

He can see the entire landscape: the rolling hills of the Highlands beyond the forests where his home is nestled - the expanses of fields in the distance where the borders of clan Gunderson begin in the Western Lowlands. He can trace the Altea Range east towards the Somerisles, where the MacDonals stake their claim, and the Southern Valleys of clan Garrett, where agriculture is favourable.  

 

And to the north - where the terrain is as rugged and wild as the people - the territories of the Koganes.

 

Lance can see it all, and he thinks this must be how it feels to live as a bird - to have wings and the freedom to roam wherever he pleases. To experience the wind under his arms and the thrill of looking down over the world.

 

He hears Kalte call out to him from below and looks down to see her as a spec of grey against vibrant greens: the canopies of the oaks and evergreens fuzzy and blurred. Lance thinks they could be clouds seen from reverse, though he doubts they would feel as nice as he imagines should he fall into them.

 

_Best keep my distance from the edge._

 

He stands, breathing in the crisp scent of mountains - old rock and earth carried on the frigid breeze of ice.

 

_Ice...right!_

 

As breathtaking as the view is, Lance didn't climb all this way to experience the eyes of an eagle. He's here for the fire waters.

 

He's here for his fate.

 

He turns, staring up at the falls that pummel the rock of the adjacent mountainside. Edging closer he feels the frigid spray of mist, shivering as droplets hit his face.

 

“Amazing,” he whispers in awe, watching the light change colour as the sun pierces the water. Reds, blues, pinks, greens...it’s a tapestry of nature's creation. The falls have their own pulse, resonating within him like war drums on the eve of battle, and Lance is _convinced_ they must be alive: that some great dragon sits atop the Altea Range weeping tears of melted ice so that the earth below may thrive and grow.  

 

He begins to understand why the fire waters hold such power, why the kings and queens of old sought them out.

 

He can _feel_ the energies they give off, shook to the core by their overwhelming presence. And even if the stories are just myths, Lance won’t be disappointed. The beauty of it all is prize enough.

 

But that doesn’t mean he won’t still try.

 

He cups his hands, shuffling closer to the edge of Marmora’s Blade. There’s a good-sized gap between the peak on which he stands and the adjacent rock where the waters flow down from - top hidden by a heavy mist - but he can reach the falls easily enough.

 

The tips of his fingers are the first to pass through, and Lance immediately understands how the waters earned their name.

 

He draws back with a jolt as a shooting cold pierces his skin, burning to the point of numbness, and stares down at his hands.

 

“Woah,” he breathes, narrowing his eyes as he preps for a second attempt. He reaches out again, quicker this time, and clenches his teeth as water collects in the bowl of his palms. It only takes a second, but already his fingers are losing colour, growing heavy and stiff as he pulls his arms back and brings the water to his lips.

 

He never knew before that ‘cold’ could have a flavour, but as he drinks the fire water he realizes there’s no better way to describe it. His entire mouth instantly freezes: tongue iced as chills run down along his arms and spine. His eyes blink wide open as the water travels down his throat, burning and quenching all at the same time. It awakens him. Sharpens his senses. Pools in his belly and seeps into his bones.

 

His mouth opens as he exhales: breath visible despite the warmth of the day, and Lance grins.

 

He’s freezing from the inside out - blood cooling and hair standing on end - but he’s _alive!_ He’s _drank_ the _fire waters!_ He knows, without being aware of how, that the fates are smiling down on him.

 

And when a gust blows down from the mountain peaks, singing its songs and sounding like wolves, Lance answers in kind, cupping his hands over his mouth and giving his reply.

 

He howls, and the sound travels down across the valley, fading in and out all around him. He’s surrounded by it. Swallowed in it. He’s the direwolf Mac Tíre, calling out to his brothers and sisters to hunt.

 

But no...that’s not right.

 

Lance’s smile diminishes as he realizes what he’s done, and he covers his mouth in panic as his howl repeats over and over, losing volume but still loud enough to bring a different sort of shiver to his skin.

 

It fades slowly, and even when Lance is sure it should have ended he can still hear the occasional faint echo of his voice bouncing between the ravines of the Altea Range: a reminder of his mistake.

 

_Morrigan save me, what have I done?!_

 

It’s the _worst_ sort of luck to call out to wolves: a sign of disrespect to those who were killed by the packs of old. Even the hunters avoid using the sound to lure the beasts in fear that Mac Tíre will be the one to answer.

 

And Lance...how _could_ he?! On the peak of Marmora’s Blade no less!

 

He waits, eyes wide and unblinking as his hands quiver over his mouth. Waiting….waiting…

 

Listening for an answer, wondering what he should do if one is given.

 

 _Bad omens,_ he worries, pacing now as the fire waters continue to flow unbothered. _I didn’t mean to- I shouldn’t have!_

 

But he had….for whatever reason - either overzealous with joy or overcome with the urge to answer the wind - he’d called out to the wolves. Stupidly. _Foolishly!_ Selfishly.

 

And though Mac Tíre is not something he fears with any legitimacy, he’s close to the northern borders. _In_ them really, seeing as the Altea Range is the gateway to the Spurs. Wolves still roam these parts, and though Lance had been confident he could face one before, now that he’s atop this shard of rock overlooking the vast areas where the wilderness hosts all manner of beasts, he’s not so sure.

 

Less so knowing his bow is down below, where Kalte is patiently waiting.

 

_But would she wait if a wolf came along? What if I get stuck up here, circled by a bloodthirsty pack?!_

 

“Time to go,” he announces suddenly, voice firm despite his nerves. He eyes the fire waters once more before beginning the descent, praying to whatever gods he can name that his fate not be tainted.

 

No answer was given to his call - which Lance considers a blessing - so with a final nod he finds his footing and climbs down Marmora’s Blade. It’s faster to the bottom, but Lance figures that’s a result of urgency more than ease. His foot slips several times, but he manages to compensate with the strength in his arms - taking risks he would never consider were the situation different.

 

But he needs to get out of here. He needs to be back in the safety of his own lands, where the wolves are too fearful to roam.

 

 _I’m not scared,_ he reminds himself. _Just taking precautions. Mum would kill me should she find out I was eaten by feral dogs._

 

Kalte trots over to him as he jumps to solid ground - knees buckling and arms weak from the climb - and bows her head to help him up.

 

“Thanks, girl,” he praises, retrieving his things with his heart in his throat. “Let’s go home, shall we?”

 

Kalte snorts and Lance mounts up, encouraging her into a run back down the path to the woods.

 

He flees the shadow of the Altea Range - the music of the mountains - and keeps his ears open for any howling. But the forest is quite as he enters the trees, and Lance turns back just to be sure.

 

He can see the mists of the fire waters spreading out over the peak on which he’d stood, obscuring it from view in a dazzling array of colours. He can see the places he’d slipped - feel the burn in his muscles from where they’d held on for dear life - along the face of the shard.

 

And at the base of Marmora’s Blade he can see a small orb of blue light hovering above the ground, watching him leave with a soundless presence.

 

The same blue he’d seen before, only now he’s certain.

 

_A wisp…!_

 

Lance swallows thickly, tearing his eyes away and biting his tongue, urging himself not to cry as he digs his fingers into Kalte’s mane and lets her take him home.

 

 _A wisp..._ he thinks again as he lowers his head and listens to the wind around him. _What luck have I brought upon myself to see such a being?_

 

Because it could mean anything. Good tidings, bad wishes, or nothing at all. Wisps were warnings - messengers of the fae - that change was coming. And though Lance tries to convince himself that the appearance of a wisp below where he had climbed was a _good_ sign, all he is reminded of is the first and last time he saw a wolf in the wilds: the day he could have died, hiding from his mother in the woods.

 

Only this time the memories flood back with startling sharp clarity, as if his mind had been drenched in the fire water, and not just his hands. He recalls the details as if he’d only just lived them - diving headfirst into a waking dream as he remembers.

 

The branches overhead. The thrill of hide and seek.

 

The glowing blue light that had drawn him further into the trees.

 

He’d followed a wisp, the day he’d come face to face with the wolf. And he remembers now, how it had approached him. There had been no snarling, as his dreams always led him to believe. No growling or menacing showing of teeth. The wolf had simply watched him - eyes intelligent and ears forward - listening to his giggles as he held out his hand to pet.

 

Blue eyes had stared into his soul, piercing and knowing, and then a warm tongue had kissed the tips of his reaching fingers.

 

Gentle. Caring.

 

There had been no malice. No hatred or fear. The wolf had done nothing, and yet his mother had still screamed, and the knife had still been thrown, and the wolf had _still_ been killed shortly after.

 

Lance’s eyes shoot open, cheeks wet and stinging with tears, but the vision fades as Kalte continues to run.

 

 _No,_ he chokes, brows furrowing as he tries to grasp the new recollections. _No! That’s not what happened! I was almost attacked! Mother saw it...she told me!_

 

_Wolves are not to be trusted. It’s why we hunt them! It’s why my father is King!_

 

But despite the firmness in which he reminds himself of these facts, something within Lance is hesitant to believe them as fully as before. He feels the fire water in his belly begin to freeze, weighing him down as his pulse thunders in his veins.

 

 _It can’t be true. I know what I saw. I was_ there! _Wolves are monsters who seek to kill, nothing more, nothing less._

 

He turns to look back towards Marmora’s Blade on impulse, but the wisp is gone. Vanished. Lance is alone in the woods with his horse, bones numb and thoughts blurred, wondering what truths he had just unearthed.

 

Wondering what lies he had been living.

 

He decides not to linger on it. Years of knowing one thing cannot easily be swayed by the untrustworthy memories of a child, he reminds himself.

 

_I’m tired. Maybe a tad delirious. I just need to get home and rest, that’s all. Besides, what would I even do? It means nothing._

 

_Nothing at all._

 

He rushes home, ignoring every flash of blue in the woods.

 

* * *

 

It’s dark by the time he’s finished brushing Kalte, distracted by the day and spending more time than necessary ensuring she’s fed and happy. The manual labour helps clear his head, but eventually there’s not much else he can do.

 

He heads into the castle through the kitchens, stealing an apple as he walks towards the dining hall.

 

He can hear the giggles of his sisters as he approaches, followed by the deep gravelly voice of his father - humourous and comforting. It’s his mother's voice that has him pausing at the door, Coran’s words from the morning coming to the forefront of his thoughts.

 

_Right. She had something she wanted to talk about. Maybe it’s best if I-_

 

“Ah! Highness!”

 

Lance turns to see Coran down the hallway, pace hasty as he moves to Lance’s side.

 

_He probably thinks I’ll escape again._

 

“I’m glad I caught you! Your mother has been asking your whereabouts all day!”

 

_Just as I thought._

 

The idea of wolves in the woods is a sudden, _preferable,_ alternative to hearing what news his mother has, but as if sensing his thoughts, Coran loops his arm with Lance’s and opens the doors to the hall, thoroughly preventing his retreat.

 

“Lancey!” his sisters call as he enters, jumping up in their seats. His parents both turn to look, one with a smile and one with a frown. Lance choses the spot closest to his father, ignoring the expression on his mother's face.

 

“The final raven arrived just now,” Coran informs her, handing over a sealed letter before leaving the room. Lance just _barely_ makes out the crest of clan MacDonal sealed in wax, catching the shared look between his parents.

 

He chooses not to ask.

 

“You’ll never guess what I did today,” he says instead, resting his bow on the table and grabbing a small loaf of bread. His father raises a brow in question, intrigued.

 

“Weapons off the table,” his mother berates without looking up from the letter she holds. Lance huffs but does as told. It’s better not to pick a fight over something so petty. His father shoots him a wink as he does, and Lance continues.

 

“I climbed Marmora’s Blade and drank the fire waters.”

 

The triplets stare over in amazement, clambering over one another to ask him all sorts of questions.

 

“How high did you go?”

 

“What did it taste like?”

 

“Were there any faeries?”

 

“What about giant eagle nests!”

 

“Did you fall?”

 

“Did you _die?!”_

 

Lance laughs, waving them off as his father leans across the table.

 

“Marmora’s Blade, eh? Only the bravest dare climb her. Braver still to taste her waters.”

 

Lance fills with pride, beaming as his cheeks flush.

 

_Right! What I did was brave! I climbed the mountain of Kings! Wisp or not, what I did will surely bring good fortune._

 

“What did you wish for?” his father continues, and Lance frowns.

 

“Wish?”

 

“Why of course! The fire waters hold great power boy! Wishes spoken are often granted to those who drink their fill.”

 

Lance stares down at the table in thought. He hadn’t known about any wishes - the legends only mentioned blessings - but he wonders if his thoughts would have counted.

 

_To be free, like the birds who fly at such heights. To make my own choices...live my own life. That was what I would have wished for._

 

He smiles, forgetting to mention the howl.

 

“I didn’t make a wish, but I felt the power the waters held. It was amazing, really.”

 

“And did you see any wolves?”

 

Before he can answer his mother pipes up, voice worried and woeful.

 

“Wolves? Where?” She turns to Lance, checking him over for any sign of hurt. “You saw a wolf? Were you attacked?”

 

“No, mum-”

 

“What have I _told_ you about wondering the woods outside our lands!” she goes on, tone growing scolding. “And by yourself no less!”

 

“I wasn’t-” Lance tries to explain, but she doesn’t hear him. She _never_ hears him.

 

“That’s it. You are no longer permitted out without an escort.”

 

“Wha- _mum!”_ Lance stands, slamming his hands down on the table. His father shakes his head with a sign.

 

“He was fine, love. Nothing happened.”

 

“You said he was chased by wolves!” his mother chides, and his father rolls his eyes.

 

“When did I say that, woman! He drank from the fire waters, that’s all.”

 

 _That’s all…?_ Lance thinks, briefly hurt, and his mother folds her arms over her chest and shakes her head.

 

“Regardless, Lance is a _prince_. He should _act_ the part, which means guards.” She turns to him again, eyes almost soft. “I nearly lost you once, I will _not_ let it happen again.”

 

“Mum! That’s not fair!” Lance argues back, fighting the memory of the wolf - both versions of it. “I was _fine!_ There was nothing to worry about!” Which isn’t _entirely_ true, but Lance reasons mentioning the wolf call and the wisps wouldn’t do much to help him out. So he bites his tongue and holds his mother's gaze, spitting the last sentence with a clear finality.

 

“I’m not a child anymore.”

There’s a pause that follows his statement - no one daring to speak lest the uncomfortable mood worsen - and finally his mother exhales and looks away.

 

“You’re right. You’re not a child. You’re a young man, and you’re ready.”

 

“What,” Lance blinks, pushing away from the table as he stares over at his father in confusion. “Ready for what? Do I get to join the annual hunt this year?”

 

He’s momentarily excited, as the hunt is typically reserved for the clan lords and chiefs. The festival can last days, _weeks_ even, until a wolf is killed. The one who brings it in is honoured and celebrated, holding the title of ‘wolf slayer’ until the next hunt. Each year the task grows more difficult, as wolves have learned to hide from men on horses. But that only makes the pride of killing one greater.

 

Being able to join would be a symbol of Lance’s age and status. To be granted the opportunity to hunt alongside his father and fellow chiefs is something he’s dreamed about since being old enough to understand the premise behind the festival. But as he grins over at his father in anticipation his hopes wither, replaced with growing dread as his mother clears her throat.

 

“Tell him,” she insists, and Lance’s stomach drops.

 

“Well...see,” his father starts, avoiding eye contact. “The, well...um-”

 

“Oh Brighid help me,” his mother curses under her breath, excusing the triplets and watching them go before turning to Lance. She holds out the letter Coran had given her, seal broken and parchment unfurled. “This year, seeing as you’ve reached an age where you - as you so _eloquently_ put it - are no longer a child, your father and I have invited the lords to allow their eldest to compete in their place.”

 

Lance brightens, foot tapping against the floor in an effort to dispel his nervous energy.

 

“That’s great! So I can-”

 

“However,” his mother interrupts, holding up a finger to silence him, “they will not be competing for some childish title-”

 

“Oi!” his father balks, but she doesn’t hear him.

 

“-but rather for something much more meaningful. They’ll be your suitors.”

 

She pauses, letting the words sink in, but Lance doesn’t wait for them to settle. He feels his legs grow weak, using his arms to steady himself against the table.

 

“Su- _suitors?!”_ he exclaims, voice loud and piercing. His father winces but his mother remains expressionless, nodding calmly as she continues.

 

“The eldest from each clan will compete to hunt a wolf for your hand in marriage,” she explains, but Lance hardly hears her. Or rather, only select words get through.

 

_Clan...wolf….marriage!?_

 

“I’m- I can’t-” he splutters, gaping at her in disbelief. “I’m not _ready for marriage!_ And to someone I don’t _know?!_ Mum... _please-”_

 

“We’ve already discussed this with the other lords!” she lectures, as if explaining which direction moss grows on trees to a child - something mindless and boring. “Our treaties can be strengthened with marriage, especially with the threat of wolves diminishing. And as the prince of clan McClain it is your _duty_ to-”

 

“My _duty?!”_ Lance hollers, cutting her off in his anger. “When was I _asked_ about this! When did you decide to plan my life without _me?!_ I can’t... _marry,_ mum! And dad-” he turns to his father, who at least has the decency to look ashamed. “You _helped?!_ Why didn’t you tell me-”

 

“That is quite enough, Lance,” his mother scolds, tone growing impatient. “You have responsibilities. This is what I have been preparing you for! You cannot spend your days riding carefree in the wilds chasing wisps!”

 

Lance flinches, the memory of what he’d seen earlier surfacing for a moment, but he pushes it down as he fights tears.

 

“So I’m a _prize_ to be won, then? In exchange for _a wolf_ no less _?!_ Is that what you think of me?”

 

“It’s not about what I think,” his mother sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “It’s about what’s good for the kingdom, for the people. _Your_ people. The lords and chieftains are already on their way. You _will_ behave yourself and you _will_ listen and you _will_ marry-”

 

“How is that _fair!?”_ Lance cuts her off, storming towards the exit. “Why can’t I choose my own fate!”

 

“Lance, I am not done talking-”

 

But he doesn’t hear the rest of her lecture, sprinting out into the hallway to flee as his jaw aches from withholding tears. Coran is waiting outside but Lance doesn’t stop when he calls out. He rushes through the castle to the tallest tower, pushing open the door to the roof and feeling the cool bite of the evening against his skin.

 

And when he finds the spot where he typically likes to sit and stare up at the stars on nights such as this, he finally breaks down, tears flooding over his cheeks as he nestles his knees to his chest.

 

 _No...no no no!_ He thinks in a panic, chest throbbing with an uneven heartbeat as he chews his bottom lip, feet tapping against the roof sporadically. _How can she make me do this! I’ve never even met the- the…!_

 

He can’t bring himself to say the word, settling for ‘strangers’ and growing more upset.

 

_And marriage?! That’s ridiculous! I’m hardly ready for such a thing!_

 

He wipes the wetness from his face, choosing to glare out at the forest instead.

 

“This is all because I howled, isn’t it?” he asks no one in particular. The night is silent - not even a breeze to give a reply. Lance curses himself. “I never should have gone up there. Drinking the waters was a mistake.”

 

He turns his gaze up, to the stars uncovered by clouds, and focuses on his breathing. In and out, until his pulse is even and his emotions are in check.

 

 _It’s fine,_ he reasons after a moment. _I’ll find a way out of this. I’ll fix things. Seeing a wisp means changes to come, right? Who says I can’t decide which ones?_

 

_Who says I have to rely on fate?_

 

He calms, exhaling smoothly as he watches the sky above.

 

_Only the eldest of each clan can compete, right? I can work with that. I’ll be fine._

 

He nods, planning now, and in the shadows of the forest beyond his sight, a wisp appears in the darkness.

 

It hovers for a moment before vanishing in a blink, and far off in the Northern Spurs, beyond the Altea Range towards the Isles of Kon, known more commonly as The Shards, a wolf howls - the echo from the mountain finally reaching its ears.

 


	2. The Annual Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clothing = fancy.  
> Hair = done.  
> Suitors = presented.  
> Is Lance happy about any of this?
> 
> Absolutely not. Time to take matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a song to be played during one of the scenes, so if the link does not work you can listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DazbxedWy38&list=OLAK5uy_m81JvasHKF43CWeuyL1JmG_nD1RVB53u4&index=10)
> 
> To open it in the text make sure to click "open in new tab" otherwise you'll be re-directed to YouTube :)

He wakes late the next morning - exhausted from having spent most of the night frantically plotting. He’d finally collapsed sometime in the quiet hours before dawn, fully expecting to be woken not long after by Coran or his mother.

 

But when Lance blinks himself to consciousness it’s on his own time. No windows are thrown open. No orders are given to get dressed. No siblings charge into his room to jump on his bed.

 

So...why?

 

The sun is not yet at its peak, but it still hangs a good tree's length above the hills. It’s late in the morning, and Lance rubs his eyes as he sits up in bed.

 

 _Is...something wrong?_ He thinks lethargically, tossing aside his blankets and washing his face with cool water. _Did I dream it?_

 

That doesn’t seem right, as he can see the preparations he’d made during the night sitting on the chair by his bow, half-covered by his cloak to prevent his mother from seeing.

 

So he _can’t_ have made it all up. Yesterday was his eighteenth birthday, and today marks the beginning of the annual hunt. Lance swallows thickly as the words ‘marriage’ bubble up with the image he conjures of the festival - forever tarnished now - and inhales deeply to prevent himself from freaking out all over again.

 

_It’s okay. You have a plan. Everything will be alright._

 

He changes - donning the fancy garb laid out on his dresser - and glances back at the materials he’ll need for his plan to work. He’ll move them later, but for now, he decides to head down for breakfast and see if there’s a cause behind his delayed start to the day.

 

The castle is far from quite. People are rushing too and from, carrying baskets of goods and flags with their crest, giving orders and chatting and gossiping and laughing. It’s a festival, after all. Such behaviour is warranted. Lance himself would usually share in the excitement everyone holds, but he’s weighted down by an unpleasant _duty_ that apparently rests on his shoulders.

 

It’s made worse when he passes a group of kitchen staff who catches his eye and look away with bowed heads, whispering amongst themselves.

 

“-hear about what happened?” one says eagerly, voice far from quiet.

 

“The entire _castle_ heard,” the other answers, and when Lance frowns she smacks her friend on the arm and they hurry away out of sight.

 

 _Great._ Lance grumbles, scowling now. _So everyone knows I am to mar-_

 

He breaks off, shaking his head with a sigh.

 

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll remain single when this is all over. My fate is my own.”

 

“What was that?”

 

Lance whirls to see Coran standing in the doorway leading into the armory - head tilted questioningly as Lance flushes.

 

“Uh…” he falters and hastily changes the topic. The last thing he needs is Coran tattling on him. “Hey, why did no one wake me this morning?”

 

“Her Highness asked I let you sleep,” Coran explains easily enough, unbothered by the initiation of a separate conversation.

 

“She...did?” Lance raises a brow, wondering if perhaps she’d changed her stance on the matter at hand. “What for?”

 

_Maybe she decided I was right! Maybe she called the whole thing off and-_

 

“She wished you to be well-rested and presentable for the introduction of the suitors,” Coran answers, and Lance’s hopes plummet.

 

_Great._

 

“How…. _considerate_ of her,” he deadpans, continuing on his way. Coran falls into step beside him.

 

“I understand that you may have your hesitations about the whole affair-”

 

“ _Nooo._ What gave it away?” Lance quips sarcastically, though Coran doesn’t appear bothered by his tone.

 

“-but it is a _great_ honour for the other clans to be given such an opportunity. To marry the _prince_ of the McClains!”

 

Lance stares over at the man.

 

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

 

“More of a fact,” Coran shrugs. “Your family _is_ royalty. Any to join it would be granted favours that other clans would _kill_ for, though that defeats the purpose of celebrating the peace-”

 

“So they would only want my title?” Lance cuts in, shoulders sagging. “That’s all I’m worth? A name and some land?”

 

Coran stumbles to a halt, staring at Lance with wide eyes.

 

“Well... _no!_ Though your stature is an integral aspect, you have a wonderful...uh-jawline! Firm features. Yes. And a good laugh too! Hearty and contagious. Anyone would be happy to marry you.”

 

Lance looks away as Coran offers his remedied statement - hasty and forced as it is - and bites the inside of his cheek.

 

“But will I?”

 

“Will you what?” Coran prods, leaning forward to catch Lance’s words - whispered and unsure as they are.

 

“Be happy.”

 

Lance lifts his gaze to meet Coran’s confused expression, a moment of silence becoming two, becoming three. When it’s apparent that Coran has no answer to give - no advice or sincere apologies - Lance sighs and turns away.

 

“Nevermind.”

 

_My happiness doesn’t matter anyway._

 

“No-wait!” Coran calls after him, but Lance doesn’t spare him his attention. He keeps his eyes forward, staring at the tapestries that hang from the stone walls and wondering if the people within them were ever allowed to choose their own fate, or if the crowns on their heads prevented it.

 

He wonders if he’ll ever join those faces of thread that stare out with stern mouths and cold eyes, having lived and died a joyless man forced into a loveless marriage to a stranger he cares not about.

 

A prince won in exchange for a wolf.

 

How _tragically_ poetic.

 

He makes his way down to the kitchens, bypassing the dining hall lest his family be within. He really does _not_ have the energy to spare to deal with his mother yet. Nor his father, for that matter.

 

_He was in on this as well._

 

So he’ll keep to himself until summoned, not speaking a word unless entirely necessary. Which wouldn't make much difference anyway, seeing as no one ever listens to him to begin with.

 

But still.

 

He grabs something to eat and retreats to the stables, where Kalte whinnies as he approaches, hoof stamping eagerly.

 

“At least _you_ care about me,” Lance smiles despite his mood, patting her side as he holds out an apple. “Or maybe you just want treats.”

 

She takes it greedily, slobbering all over his hand in the process. Lance chuckles and wipes it off on his pants, freezing as he remembers he’s wearing his fancier clothes.

 

“Ah Morrigan take me,” he curses, and then shrugs as he thinks it through. “Who cares anyway. They’re after my name, not my _trousers._ Isn’t that right Kalte?”

 

She snorts, bending for a mouthful of hay.

 

“I knew you’d agree.”

 

He spends the rest of the morning hiding in the stables - attending Kalte and lounging in the haystacks - and he feels better. Lighter. Distracted.

 

_Oh to be a stable boy. If ever I hear one of them complaining I'll toss them the crown and trade places._

 

_They can marry in my place. I'll scoop poop and live freely. Not a glamorous life, but at least one of my own choosing._

 

He’s in the middle of brushing Kalte a third time when his name is called out, but Lance pretends not to hear at first. He can tell by the tone that it’s his mother, and he can guess by the echo that she’s hollering from one of the windows of the castle, not bothering to come out and fetch him personally.

 

 _If she wants me she can come to get me,_ he thinks indignantly, smirking to himself as he continues to ignore his name called again.

 

“Lance! You need to be ready- _I know you can hear me young man!”_

 

He glances around this time, pretending to wonder where the voice is coming from, and then grins at the line of swears that burn his ears. He doesn’t typically take pleasure in annoying his mother, but today is a special occasion. Today he allows himself to indulge in such poor manners. It may well be his last time to do so.

 

“Lance McClain do not make me come down there,” his mother threatens, tone growing impatient and heated, and Lance finally relents. He turns, hands going to his hips as he finds the window she’s calling from.

 

Almost ironically it’s the one he frequently climbs out of on the nights he sneaks off to practice archery.

 

_Somewhere the fae are laughing._

 

“Come up and get changed,” she calls out once she has his attention. “The lords will be arriving  shortly-”

 

“I _am_ changed, mum.” He gestures to the outfit he’s currently sporting, wondering if she can see the damp mark of Kalte’s saliva on his thigh, or the multiple dirt smudges he'd gathered from cleaning the stalls. His mother frowns, waving her hand in dismissal.

 

“I had something more traditional made. You have to look your best for the suitors. Come along now. Right away.” And she leaves, retreating back into the hall the window looks out from.

 

Lance’s mood darkens, and he taps his foot against the ground while he debates taking Kalte and running away into the hills. He could do it easily enough, but then what? Live as a traveler in the woods, exchanging stories for food?

 

_That doesn’t sound that bad actually…_

 

But in the end, Lance gives in, deciding he can always run away should his plan fail. He heads back to the castle with a final pat to Kalte’s neck. He alters his course towards the wall though, finding the stones that will take him up to the window his mother had summoned him from.

 

 _She did say right away,_ he reasons, climbing up the side of the castle and ducking into the hall through the shutter with relative ease. The door to his room is open when he approaches, and Lance takes a brief moment to collect his thoughts before entering.

 

_Try to reason with her. It’s not too late for her to change her mind._

 

He walks in, and right away his mother is upon him.

 

“Oh, _look_ at the state of you!” she scolds, running her fingers through his hair and pushing it off to one side - the _exact_ style Lance detests the most. She steps back, eyes wandering over his clothing as she shakes her head and titters. “You’re a complete _mess!’_

 

“I’m perfectly fine, mum,” he tries, knowing it’s a waste of breath. She doesn’t even look at him as she begins tossing other items his way.

 

“‘Fine’ is not what I want. You need to be _perfect.”_

 

“But-”

 

“Put these on,” she orders, not giving him the chance to speak as he’s pushed into the corner to change. The new clothes are tight and uncomfortable: kilt awkward and vest restricting. His shoes are polished and impractical, belt massive and weighted with empty scabbards. But it’s the gaudy brooch of their family crest - three sizes larger than subtle - fastened to the family tartan draped across his chest and over his shoulder that really completes the look.

 

He’s the vision of royalty: one of the paintings in the entrance hall brought to life.

 

And he hates it.

 

“Mum! This is too much!” he complains, panting as he attempts walking forward. Everything is heavy and cumbersome. He couldn’t run if he needed to - can hardly take a single _step_ without an incredible amount of exertion. How is he supposed to do _anything_?!

 

“Nonsense,” she answers, expression growing fonder as she takes him in. “Oh, Lance...you look so handsome!”

 

“I look like a doll!”

 

“Let me see!” she goes on, oblivious or else uncaring to his observations. “Spin around.”

 

He huffs but does as asked, moving in a stiff circle that has him sweating by the end of it.

 

“Is all this _necessary?!_ ” he whines, tugging at the curtain length tartan arranged around his body. It’s made of wool, to make matters worse, to be worn in the hottest part of summer. Practical. “How am I supposed to _fight?!”_

 

“Fight? Why would you _fight?”_ she contends, fixing any mistakes he may have made when dressing. Her hands move up to his hair again, flattening it to his scalp. “You are meant to sit and observe the festival, awaiting the winner of the hunt.”

 

“I already told you-”

 

“Your betrothed will wish to present you with their wolf-”

 

“But-”

 

“-and you will bow and take their hand, wrapping your tartan around their shoulders to symbolize the union.”

 

She's not listening. She's in her own world, dotting away at his clothes with a smile that pains Lance to see. He doesn't want to disappoint her. He doesn't want to _fight_ with her! But he can't allow this. He can't keep silent and listen and obey as he's been told to do all his life.

 

He can't. Not for this.

 

So he takes her wrists to still them - her fingers having moved to his hair again - and speaks as sincerely as possible.

 

“Mum…” he begs - _pleads_ \- catching her eyes and holding her gaze. When she doesn't look away he inhales sharply, mustering his courage to go on. “I’m not ready. For marriage...for _love_. I'll be miserable if I have to spend the rest of my life with someone I didn't choose for myself. Please, mum... _don't make me do this.”_

 

Her hands still, moving to cradle his cheek after a pause as her brows tilt upwards in concern. She stares at him for a long moment, clearly conflicted as her eyes scan over his face. Lance leans into her touch - waiting, _praying_ that she’ll understand his fears, his worries - and goes on in a strained whisper.

 

“I _can’t_ marry a stranger.”

 

She flinches, blinking rapidly before pulling her hands away. Her gaze drops to the floor, and Lance holds his breath as he waits for her reply.

 

Anything. _Anything!_

 

_Please mum! Please!_

 

She sighs, expression stern when she looks back his way, all tenderness gone.

 

“That is why we have the introduction ceremony.”

 

She turns as Lance crumbles, heart shattering in his chest at her words: her final decision. Nothing changed. She doesn’t care. And for the first time, Lance questions the unwavering love of his mother - the trust he had never doubted now fragile and thin.

 

Because how _could_ she? How could she allow this to happen? How could she make him go through with it? How could she be the one to orchestrate it all without asking him what _he_ thought? What he _wants?_

 

 _How could she?_ _How_ is _she?!_

 

“Come down to the entrance hall,” she says before exiting, not turning his way as her hand clenches at her side. “Your suitors await.”

 

She leaves, and when the door shuts Lance collapses to the floor, breathing rapidly through his nose as his fists ball into the fabric of his ceremonious attire. His legs are weak. His head is throbbing. His chest feels tight and his ribs constricting. He’s in shock, maybe. Or denial.

 

And his eyes travel over to the chair where his preparations are waiting, hidden by the cloak of his family that’s betrayed him to this fate.

 

He clenches his jaw, frowning as he forces himself to breathe properly - fully and deeply.

 

He won’t cry about this anymore. The decision was made, and it’s time for him to act. He stands, adjusting the tartan over his shoulder and heads for the door. Before he leaves he runs a hand through his hair, messing it up to the way he likes before heading towards the entrance hall.

 

It’s a small act of defiance, he thinks. A precursor of what’s to come.

 

And what does it matter anyway? His mother will be livid regardless, should his plan succeed. Why not stir the pot a bit beforehand?

 

Besides, he’s already called out to the wolves.

 

How much worse can his luck get?

 

* * *

 

The entrance hall is bustling with noise and decor - practically unrecognizable as Lance slips through a side door to take his seat beside his father. His sisters wave when they spot him, dressed in matching dresses of blue tartan with their hair in braids. Lance doubts they’ll stay so kept for long. Already he can see their tight curls springing loose from the ribbons.

 

But he waves back, and then a shadow blocks his view as his mother steps in front.

 

“Shoulders straight, chest out-” she instructs, adjusting him accordingly on his chair. “And remember to smile.”

 

He doesn’t, instead glaring at a spot on the far wall where the wolf pelts from previous hunts hang. His mother frowns, opening her mouth to speak but closing it shortly after with a sigh - the words hanging awkward and unspoken between them heavier than the wool he wears.

 

He _wishes_ she would say something, seeing as he’s already tried reasoning with her. But in the end, she turns away, making sure to fix his hair before she takes her throne on the other side of his father.

 

As soon as she’s out of sight Lance messes it again, catching the wink his father shoots his way.

 

Lance ignores that too, angry at them both that he’s here - sitting in such a ridiculous outfit waiting to meet his suitors. He feels awful: sweaty and itchy and tired and annoyed. His mood is foul, and he has no intention whatsoever of greeting their guests with false pleasantries.

 

But when the bagpipes are played and the folk previously hovering in the large open space before the thrones scatter to the far walls, Lance leans forward without meaning to - curiosity getting the better of him.

 

Truthfully, he's only met the children of the clan lords and chiefs a few times in his life. He doesn't know much about them save for their names, and even _those_ are hard to recall.

 

They’re rarely brought to the annual hunt after all, as it’s more of an adult affair, and whenever he’d visited the other lands their meetings were brief and shallow - an exchange of bows and a nod as they left to do their own thing.

 

Lance had always been envious because of that. As a prince he’d been expected to loiter during the councils, learning to strategize and communicate efficiently. All the while the laughter of children his own age would be heard echoing through the castles - carefree and lively - expressing emotions Lance rarely got to experience.

 

So he’s curious about how these people grew up. Who they’ve become. He finds himself ready to compare their lives with his own - eager to know if he’d been missing out on some great adventure whilst learning languages no one else speaks.

 

The bagpipes fade out, and Coran clears his throat to announce their first guest.

 

“From the warmer climes of the east, we welcome Lord MacDonal of the Somerisles-”

 

The doors swing open before Coran can finish and a small battalion of men and women dressed in black tartan - interlaced with blue to represent their fealty to the McClains - waltz proudly into the room. They’re led by a squat man with a wide gait, who glances around the room confidently despite his short stature.

 

He smiles widely up at Lance’s father - kind but cocky - and bows deeply.

 

“Highness! I was first to arrive at your borders and-”

 

“Lies!”

 

Every head turns back towards the front doors, where another large group of people is entering. They sport the yellow tartan of clan Garrett - also laced with blue for the same purpose - and chief Gregor of the Southern Valleys pants as he points an accusatory finger at Lord MacDonal.

 

“ _We_ were first to dock! That _twit_ and his ships boxed us in and unloaded whilst we were stuck at bay!”

 

“Nonsense!” Lord MacDonal spits back, waving off the allegations. “The wind simply favoured our arrival, that’s all-”

 

“The _wind_ my _arse!_ ”

 

Lance’s father snorts with laughter, and though Lance cannot see his mother’s expression, he can guess what sort of discontent it holds.

 

It has him smirking as he watches the theatrics unfold.

 

“You’re just petty that I won the last hunt,” Lord MacDonal goes on, gesturing over to the wall with the wolf pelts. Chief Garrett storms over, pointing up at the most recent addition to which Lord MacDonal speaks.

 

_“That was also my kill! You stole it!”_

 

“Pish posh- _oi!”_ He breaks off as Chief Garrett raises a fist, but before the blow can land the bagpipes start anew, and in walk the Gundersons.

 

“Have the festivities already begun?” Their leader asks with a grin, snaking into the room with his select clan members. They’re wearing their green and blue tartan, carrying several flags with their crest - regal and stoic as always. “I wouldn’t like to miss out on a fight.”

 

“ _You?_ Fight? Don’t be ridiculous!” Lord MacDonal jests, stepping away from Gregor of clan Garrett to greet Samuel of Clan Gunderson. The house used to be divided into two families, if Lance recalls correctly. The Western Lowlands were governed by the Gundersons and the Holts, always feuding over borderlines and such, until it was discovered they were of the same lineage. They merged under one name and have been expanding westward ever since.

 

“Not _myself_ , no,” Samuel answers - delicate and refined as he is. “I meant only to _watch_ you and Gregor knock the living daylights out of one another.”

 

“As if Jamie stands a chance,” Gregor chortles, cracking his knuckles as he towers above Lord MacDonal. “Or do you have an excuse to weasel your way out of this one as well?”

 

 _This is spectacular,_ Lance thinks giddily as he watches, completely forgetting the reason they’re all here. It’s like this every festival. The lords and chiefs gather and squabble until the alcohol makes an appearance.

 

It’s usually great fun, and it’s one of the few times of the year Lance can watch his mother relax - gossiping with the ladies and sipping ale without worrying about much else.

 

But he doubts he’ll be seeing that side of her this time. Or rather, he doubts he’ll feel the same way if he does. Her joy will mean his unhappiness: his defeat. It’s a twisted turn of fate, and it has Lance leaning back in his chair as his mood drops unpleasantly.

 

“ _Me_ the weasel?!” Lord MacDonal spews, ignorant to Lance’s troubles and stomping over to Samuel Gunderson to point up at his face. “It’s _Sam the Slick_ you have to worry about! How many years has he managed to word his way out of our drinking contest!”

 

“Ay, you’re right about that one Jamie,” Gregor agrees, turning with one brow raised to face Samuel. “We could always settle that _now-”_

 

“Before the hunt?” Samuel scoffs. “Are you _mad?!”_

 

“I'll agree to the added challenge,” Jamie nods eagerly, drawing his sword and brandishing it around. “What say you, Angus!”

 

They all turn to Lance's father, eyes glistening as they hurry towards the throne. Lance glances over as his father stands - grinning wickedly - but before he can accept his mother clears her throat.

 

It's a small noise, hardly discernible against the competing commotion of the represented clans gathered in the entrance hall, but silence follows immediately after.

 

All eyes turn to the Queen, and even Lance holds his breath as she begins.

 

“Gentlemen, though your enthusiasm is welcome, please remember why we are gathered today.”

 

It's a punch to Lance's gut - and every head turns his way. He shrinks against the communal staring, feeling judged and nervous but managing to keep his back straight as he meets the gazes of the lords and chiefs.

 

_Don't freak out. Don't freak out. Remain calm. Dignified._

 

They back down after a moment, averting their eyes and adjusting their tartans.

 

“Apologies, m'lady,” Gregor bows his head, and beside him Jamie and Samuel do the same.

 

“Then let us proceed to the presentation of the suitors, yes?”

 

 _Oh lovely,_ Lance groans, pulse jumping in his throat as he once again feels the stares turn his way. He tries to avoid making eye contact with anyone - instead focusing on a decorative shield above the entrance doors as he fights to keep his feet still.

 

_Just make it through this. Breathe._

 

Lord MacDonal is first to speak, pumping his arms as he waltzes back to his people.

 

“I present my only son, conqueror of the treacherous sea pass leading into the north - _The Garrisons Teeth -_ and most _handsome_ of the suitors-”

 

“Oi, you shut your trap-” Gregor begins, just as Samuel scoffs and rolls his eyes.

 

Lord MacDonal goes on unhindered, stepping back as he waves someone forward.

 

“My son, Adam MacDonal of the Somerisles!”

 

 A young man with dark skin and light sandy hair walks forward. He smiles shyly but doesn't meet Lance's eyes long enough for him to make any further judgments other than  _he's tall, toned, and timid._

 

Not a bad combination, but Lance isn't exactly falling head over heels.

 

Still, he nods his welcome, and Adam bows respectfully before returning to his father's side.

 

Chief Gregor Garrett is next, spreading his arms as he makes his introduction.

 

“My son is the master of designing ships. He builds the fastest vessels for our warriors. None can rival his craftsmanship.”

 

“But can he use them?” Lord MacDonal asks with a smirk. “The boats, I mean. Can he sail? Adam is a _fine_ sailor. Best in the land I’d reckon.”

 

“Father, please,” Adam mumbles, staring at the ground as his ears turn pink. He has a smooth voice, and Lance wonders if he has any skill at singing.

 

“Fast ships mean nothing if they can't be managed properly,” Lord MacDonal continues. “Perhaps that is why we arrived _first_ at the docks.”

 

Gregor flounders for a moment before settling for a cross tone as his arms move to his hips.

 

“ _We_ were first. And he doesn't _need_ to sail them-”

 

“I get seasick,” someone speaks up, and Gregor slaps a hand over his face as what Lance assumes to be his son approaches.

 

“I'm Hunk, and yes...I like building ships. And cooking! But father says I shouldn't tell that to- oh…” he trails off sheepishly, grinning up at Lance as his father curses under his breath.

 

He has a kind face with unexpectedly soft features given the muscles in his arms. He's not as tall as Adam, but Lance doesn't have to think much about who would win in a fight.

 

_Though I doubt he would agree to such a thing, given that speech._

 

Lance finds himself smiling back despite telling himself to remain expressionless. It's contagious, and Hunk seems like someone he may grow to like.

 

Not _marry_ , of course. But friendship would be acceptable.

 

So he nods, and Hunk beams as he bows.

 

Samuel Gunderson makes a show of his presentation: voice grand as it echoes through the hall.

 

“My son is an explorer, one of the few to brave the lands beyond our own. He brings back treasures and wisdoms that are known only by us.”

 

“Sounds a tad treasonous, wouldn't you say Gregor?” Lord MacDonal tries, but Samuel doesn't stoop to his jab.

 

“I present Matthew Gunderson, my eldest son.”

 

“You have another?” Gregor speaks up before Matthew makes his approach, and Samuel nods smoothly, hand beckoning his children forward.

 

Lance leans forward as well, brows furrowed as he tries to recall his knowledge of the Gundersons.

 

He knew Samuel had two children, but he thought that the second was a girl by the name of Katelyn - Katie or Kat for short. He knows nothing of another son, but sure enough, two boys step forward. The height difference makes it easy to tell which is Matthew, but aside from that, the siblings are nearly identical.

 

They both have the trademark strawberry blond hair of the Gundersons - though Matthew's is longer and tied back - with smooth pale skin. They bow in sync, Matthew stepping forward as his brother bites back a grin.

 

“My father is correct. I am the eldest of his sons. My name is Matthew, though I go by Matt, and this-” he gestures for his brother to approach, who does with flushed cheeks “-is Pidge.”

 

“Hello,” Pidge nods, voice high pitched and squeaky. He clears his throat and tries again, restating the greeting in a deeper tone.

 

 _Interesting,_ Lance thinks, wanting very much to ask how old Pidge is to see if it lines up with the age Katie would be. He was _certain_ there had been a sister.

 

“And what of your daughter?” Lord MacDonal chides, echoing Lance's thoughts and frowning at Pidge. Matt steps in front of him, blocking him from the scrutiny.

 

“Whatever do you mean?” Samuel answers, though Lance can sense the limited patience in his words - as if challenging Jamie to pursue the matter.

 

In the end, he doesn't get the chance, as Lance's mother stands, and the room falls silent.

 

“We accept the presented suitors,” she says daintily, and Lance scowls at her choice of words.

 

_As if I had a say in the matter!_

 

“Now we will decide-” but she's interrupted as the front doors suddenly swing open.

 

Everyone in the room collectively gasps as a woman steps forward: hair short and eyes piercing as they scan around the room. Her gaze lingers on the wolf pelts on the wall - something akin to disgust flickering over her face - before landing on the thrones where his parents stand.

 

“Krolia…” Lance hears his father mutter in bewilderment, and he does a double-take as the woman walks forward - crowd parting in stunned silence as she goes.

 

Because there's no way! They _never_ show up for the annual hunt! It goes against their philosophy, their very _being_!

 

But the red tartan the woman wears doesn't lie, nor does the runic wolf head emblazoned on the back of her cloak.

 

_The Koganes!_

 

Lance nearly falls out of his chair from leaning forward, but no one notices. All the attention is on Lady Krolia as she approaches, completely ignoring the other clan leaders as she bows to his parents.

 

“I would have sent a raven,” she begins - voice raspy and humorous, as if holding onto a joke she has yet to tell, “but my son was hesitant to participate.”

 

 _Her son?_ Lance wonders, finding her words both relatable and confusing. There's no one behind her, and Lance can see that the others In the room are coming to the same conclusion.

 

Lady Krolia notices, huffing as she turns around to find herself alone.

 

“Honestly,” Lance hears her mumble, and then someone else appears in the doorway. He's an interesting looking fellow with a square jaw and broad shoulders. His hair is mostly black, save for a patch of stark white that's pushed back from his forehead, and one arm hangs heavy and motionless at his side.

 

Lance thinks it may be wood or steel, but his attention is quickly diverted to the _other_ arm, which is draped over the neck of someone else - brought into view as the first man enters the room.

 

He gives off the total opposite energy of the one guiding him in - _herding_ , more like. Lance can tell there's a lot of force being used to bring him into the hall. Which - again - he finds somewhat relatable, though Lance would never make such a scene.

 

Still, he’s intrigued, and focuses on the smaller one as the two make their way to Lady Krolia's side. His hair is shaggy and unkempt, falling loosely over his face, which prevents Lance from determining what sort of features he possesses.  

 

The only thing he can make out is a facial scar, similar to the one on the man bringing him in, only it runs up the side of his cheek rather than across his nose.

 

It's curious, and Lance doesn't blink as he stares.

 

When they're before the throne the fiesty one keeps his head down - though Lance assumes that's because of the headlock he's kept in by the older man, and not entirely a choice.

 

“Let me _go_ , Shiro!” he curses, but his demand goes unfulfilled.

 

“I caught him trying to sneak off,” the taller one - Shiro as he'd been called - explains in hushed tones.

 

Krolia sighs and turns back to the front, bowing again.

 

“As I said, my son was hesitant to partake in the festival.”

 

Lance swallows thickly as he glances over at his mother, who - for the first time in his life - is speechless.

 

In fact, it's his _father_ who breaks the silence, sitting down with a hearty laugh.

 

“Well, Brighid be blessed! It's good to have you here!”

 

And just like that, the tension eases away. See, the Koganes never joined the other clans to drive the wolves out. Rather, they _fought_ the warriors sent to kill the packs. And it was a messy affair. The Koganes are a ruthless folk - trained as raiders for the lands beyond their own.

 

Lady Krolia was the one to propose the treaty when she took over the clan - stating that the fighting was pointless and getting them nowhere. She established the borders marked by the Altea Range and sanctioned the protection of wolves on her lands.

 

It was a tense signing, but Lance's father had done it willingly. They had lost too many soldiers to the Koganes, despite their enemy being four-legged.

 

Ever since their peoples had known peace. A fragile, hesitant peace, but the fighting had stopped.

 

Lance had never met the Koganes. All he had were stories of their might - their grandeur. Their stupid priorities.

 

But the mental image he had conjured of what Lady Krolia and her kin would look like is not _at all_ what he sees before him.

 

He was expecting hulking warriors. Brutal savages who spoke in grunts and wielded swords of ice. He'd always envisioned them surrounded by wolves in spiked collars - kept as pets to display their might, their superiority.

 

But the strangers before him look relatively lackluster. _Normal_ even.

 

He's oddly disappointed.

 

“But-” Lance's mother finally speaks, clearing her throat as she composes herself. “Why have you come?”

 

Lance gapes her way, but it's surprisingly his father who waves off her question.

 

“I invited them,” he confesses, and a flash of shock crosses his mother's face before being replaced by a somewhat forced smile.

 

“Is that so…”

 

“We have a treaty together,” his father continues. “They have every right to compete alongside the other clans.”

 

There's some mumbling and discontented whispers that follow the statement, but Lance's father silences them with hand. He’s obeyed instantly - such is the power of a king.

 

“Please, Lady Krolia of clan Kogane, introduce your son.”

 

She tilts her head with a knowing smile, gesturing at Shiro.

 

“This is my nephew, Takashi Shirogane, and _this_ -” she points over at the other boy, who is finally released and straightens.

 

He brushes Shiro's hand off his shoulder as he rises to his full height. He's shorter than the other suitors - slimmer with sharper features - but he looks capable of holding his own against an enemy. He looks intelligent. Powerful. Lance feels like the guy could take him out without him even knowing he was there.

 

Like a wolf.

 

A shiver runs over Lance's arms despite the heat of his outfit, and he hastily scans over the face of this new suitor.

 

His brows are thick and lowered over slanted eyes, too dark to discern a colour, with a pointed chin and nose. Aside from the scar running up his cheek, his skin is smooth and light - though it holds undertones of foreign ancestry. Sections of his hair are braided and hang to his shoulders in windswept abandon, reminding Lance of his sister's unruly locks, only lacking the curls.

 

His lips are thin and curved downward in a frown, but there are lines by his mouth and eyes born of past smiles.

 

Overall he's quite handsome, but in a unique manner, sharing the same facial structure as his mother. And yet, Lance would not call him feminine. Though he would not say masculine either, especially when compared to the man at his side. The boy falls somewhere in between, toeing the line between dainty and deadly.

 

As such, he has a commanding aura about him, handling the stares of everyone in the room as if not feeling them on his back. Nonchalant but aware, ignorant yet perceptive.

 

He's quiet in a threatening way: calculative and calm as he likely plans how best to escape.

 

But to Lance's surprise, he steps forward, arms crossing over his chest as he glares up at the royals, eyes coming to an abrupt halt on Lance.

 

They stay there for the remainder of the introduction - unwavering and intense - and Lance can’t bring himself to look away. It feels like a challenge: first to back down loses.

 

_And I won't lose to you._

 

“This is my son, Keith Kogane, protector of the innocent.”

 

A chorus of murmuring follows Lady Krolia's words, and Lance himself is curious as to who these innocent are. But she doesn't elaborate, instead stepping back to stand at Shiro's side.

 

“And how does the heir of the wolf pacifists plan on competing?” Lord MacDonal speaks up, approaching Keith with a smirk. “By _protecting_ the beast to death?”

 

Laughter follows - hesitant at first but growing in volume as Lord MacDonal begins acting out his words - backing against the wall of wolf pelts with his arms spread to block them from imagined threats.

 

Lance watches Adam sigh in defeat, stealing a glance over at Keith and his kin. Shiro catches his eye and subtly shakes his head, mouthing something indiscernible.

 

Which...is an odd reaction. But Lance doesn't get to ponder it long.

 

Keith draws the sword at his hip - the sound of it being unsheathed earning the startled cries of several nearby. Lance's father stands, Krolia reaches out, and everyone in the room watches in horror as Keith flings the weapon at Lord MacDonal.

 

There's a thud, followed by an impenetrable silence born of startled realization, and Lance blinks away his shock to see the weapon inches from Lord MacDonal's face - having landed precisely in the area the heart of the wolf would be on the pelt behind him.

 

Keith lifts his chin indignantly as Lord MacDonal sinks to the ground - legs giving out from underneath him as he stares at Keith in horror.

 

“I'll compete like everyone else,” Keith says with finality, voice firm and authoritative. He turns to Lance then, holding his gaze for a moment before speaking again. “The prince shall have his wolf.”

 

And with that he leaves, cloak billowing behind him as he exits the entrance hall. Krolia and Shiro remain - one smirking proudly and the other with a hand over his eyes - whilst Adam goes to help his father to his feet.

 

Keith's sword remains in the pelt of the wolf - a clear reminder of his intentions - and finally, Lance's father speaks.

 

“I like him!” he bellows, and Krolia bows with a grin. The atmosphere in the room becomes more bearable - more so when the barrels of ale are brought out - but Lance doesn't linger to experience it.

 

Because with the presentation of the suitors complete - as lively and unorthodox as it was - the annual hunt has officially begun.

 

Which means it's Lance's turn to act.

 

* * *

 

It takes him longer to set up than he anticipated - the added bulk of his clothing slowing his progress as he moves through the castle and grounds. He's recognized a few times and forced to greet folk accordingly, but so long as it's not his mother Lance allows the distractions.

 

He has time before the hunt commences anyway. For now, the lords and chiefs and... _ladies_ it would seem, are to gather and discuss details surrounding the altered rules of the festival and new prize to be won.

 

Lance groans as he labels himself as such, not bothering to get upset over it any longer. His plan will work.

 

_I don't belong to anyone._

 

When everything is prepped he makes his way to the tents set up on the farthest fields leading out into the wilds: where the competitors will gather on horseback and await the horn that will send them off.

 

Lance goes over his checklist as he walks, sweating in the heat of the day.

 

_Kalte is ready and waiting. My bow is stashed by the oak near the river. Arrows too._

 

_My cloak is under my chair. All I need to do is find a way out of this outfit so I can move easier._

 

_That and-_

 

He comes to a stop, three pairs of giggles catching his attention from a nearby tent.

 

_Perfect._

 

He sneaks over to it, knowing who he'll find on the other side of the colourful fabric before he draws it back.

 

“Causing trouble?” he asks as he enters, and his sisters freeze at the intrusion. They're standing on an overturned pot, helping each other reach the highest shelf where a box is stored.

 

They blink and sigh in relief when they see it's just Lance, returning to their task at hand without a care of being found out.

 

“We saw Coran come in here with that box,” Lydia informs him as she stands on the shoulders of Margery. Saoirse nods as she hands Lydia a spoon in which to reach it, though it falls short.

 

They grunt and try a new tactic.

 

“And what's in the box?” Lance asks as he moves over to the shelf, easily reaching it and pulling it down. Inside is a pie: freshly baked and steaming. It smells of apples and cinnamon - not Lance's personal favourite but a close third. The triplets, on the other hand, think the world of the desert.

 

He laughs in understanding, watching as they crowd around him with grabby hands.

 

“Oh _please_ give it to us!” Margery begs, doing her best to look pitiful. “We've been good all morning!”

 

“True,” Lance hums, bringing the pie closer to their reach. “But how about we make a deal.”

 

“What sort of deal?” Lydia questions, raising a skeptical brow.

 

Lance bends and lowers his voice, glancing over his shoulder once before whispering his request.

 

“I'm going to do something mum isn't going to like-”

 

“Alright we'll help,” Saoirse cuts him off, grinning as she nods.

 

“I didn't even tell you what I wanted yet!”

 

“That's okay,” Margery shrugs. “Mummy made us wear these itchy dresses and tied our hair too tight. _Plus_ she said no treats until supper.”

 

“How monstrous,” Lance chuckles, feeling some comfort knowing he's not the only one his mother can annoy and control. “Then here's what I need you to do. There's a massive horn that sits in the tower overlooking the far fields, do you know it?”

 

They all nod, eyes drifting over to the pie and back to Lance's face.

 

“They blow it to symbolize the start of the annual hunt. But this year I want _you_ three up in that tower sending the competitors on their way.”

 

“Why?” Lydia asks, and Lance tells her as much as he can without spoiling his plan.

 

“Let's just say that mum will try to stop it being blown. Whatever you do, don’t let her get her way. _Blow_ the horn. Start the competition.”

 

_My plan depends on it._

 

“Doesn't Coran usually blow it?” Margery points out, and Lance is feeling suddenly blessed that he happened upon these three now and not later. He eyes the pie he still holds - a lie coming to his lips as he smirks.

 

_Sorry Coran…_

 

“You see this pie here?” he says, tilting the box so they can. “I heard dad say it was a special treat for you three. But Coran said he was going to hide it and _eat_ it all for himself!”

 

“What!”

 

“No!”

 

“That _rotten_ man!”

 

Lance nods in mock understanding, giving them the pie as he stands.

 

“I trust you'll find a way to distract him so _you_ can blow the horn instead. He doesn't deserve the privilege.”

 

“Easy,” Saoirse reassures, sharing a confident look with her sisters. “You can count on us!”

 

“I knew I could,” Lance answers fondly, lifting the fabric of the tent to slip out. “Remember: start the hunt no matter what.”

 

They nod as he leaves, not wasting any time in devouring the pie, and Lance breathes a little easier now that all the steps of his plan are complete.

 

All that's left is to wait, but even that won't take long. The crowds are beginning to move in the direction of the farthest fields, bagpipes starting to alert the festival goers that the hunt is about to commence.

 

Lance takes a longer route to avoid getting caught in the swarm of festival attendees and arrives at the pavilion where his parents are currently speaking with Lord MacDonal.

 

“-don't think it's right they be allowed to join! After so many years of the tradition!” Lance hears him say, catching his eye as he takes his spot under the royal pavilion. “What say you, Highness?”

 

It takes Lance a moment to realize MacDonal is addressing him, and a moment longer to process what he’d been asked.

 

“What say I?” he repeats as his mother turns his way, startled by his sudden appearance.

 

“About that Kogane boy competing?” Lord MacDonal clarifies, stepping forward in wait.

 

To be honest Lance hadn't thought about the Koganes at all. Nor any of the other suitors for that matter. His thoughts had been too preoccupied to think much of his would-be husbands.

 

But as he opens his mouth to say as much his mother rushes to answer for him, moving between Lance and Lord MacDonal with unexpected speed.

 

“Lance has already accepted Keith Kogane as a participant. And Keith made it very clear that he knows the rules of the hunt. I myself was a bit startled at having them accept the invitation, but what’s done is done. We shall hear no more on the matter.”

 

MacDonal looks ready to argue but must decide better of it in the end. Lance almost pities the man as he bows stiffly and returns to his own people, knowing all too well the defeat that accompanies any conversation with his mother.

 

As if sensing his thoughts his mother whirls, frowning as she moves to fix his hair and tartan.

 

“Where _were_ you?!” she demands with a hiss. “I thought you had-” but she breaks off, expression softening as she stares into Lance's eyes.

 

“Thought I had what?” Lance asks softly, almost reconsidering his plan as his mother's hands cradle his cheeks. But then he remembers why he came up with it in the first place: why it's needed.

 

_This is her fault. I have no other choice._

 

So he pushes her hands away, breaking eye contact to stare off at the forest border before them.

 

“It doesn't matter. I'm here now.”

 

He watches her in his periphery - watches her hands fall to her sides...her smile break and rebuild several times over. Eventually, his father comes between them, staring over at Lance and sighing when he's thoroughly ignored, and when he sits he blocks his mother from view.

 

Lance thinks he should feel relieved.

 

Instead, he feels like crying.

 

He doesn't though, turning his emotions into determination as he glances at the bag behind his chair, hidden from view but easily accessible for when he'll need it.

 

Which will be soon. Very soon.

 

Once everyone is gathered, a woman moves to stand before them, and the crowd falls silent as she walks.

 

She wears a loose white gown of flowy silk, hair down and laced with flowers. Her feet are bare, soundless as they move across the grass. She carries with her an ornate lyre - said to be imbued with magics.  

 

_So she's here as well…_

 

Lance has only met her a few times, as she travels the land playing her songs, enchanting all who hear them. Some think she may be a descendant of the fae, others say she _is_ one. Lance himself has always known her to be a bard of sorts, with a charming smile and enticing voice. She goes by many names: the Wandering Woman, Amergin’s Daughter, Sister of Cleena...Lance knows her as Romelle, who hails from a village nestled in the Altea Range, according to Coran.

 

Regardless of her name, her playing is whimsical, and every year she’s invited to the festival to bless the forest and protect the hunters as they prepare their venture. She stops in the center of the field and faces the trees, bringing her lyre up as she begins to [play](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DazbxedWy38&list=OLAK5uy_m81JvasHKF43CWeuyL1JmG_nD1RVB53u4&index=10).

 

The tune begins slowly, delicate and calming, but with undertones of caution as it rings out over the valley and through the leaves. The wind holds the notes and carriers them farther than should be possible. Her music engulfs them, surrounds them, settles deep in their bones.

 

And as the tune gains speed Romelle sways with it, humming lightly as her music dances around them. She's in her own world - channeling the notes from a realm none of them know. It's easy to understand where the rumours blossom from. Why so many believe her to be not of this world.

 

Lance watches as she plays, fingers swift and steady, creating the favour that will keep the fae appeased throughout the hunt. It’s a lullaby of sorts. That, or a warning.

 

Either way, it has him enthralled, leaning forward in his chair as the breeze plays with the flowers in her hair: accepting her song. Pleased with its melody.

 

When it ends no one speaks for fear of breaking the spell, and it’s in that silence that the suitors step forward. They each have a horse saddled and ready, led by the reins as they take the place Romelle had been - having bowed and left without a sound - only facing the royal pavilion rather than the forest as they place the banners of their family crests into the ground to symbolize their entry.

 

Each of the clan leaders moves to wish their sons well, patting their backs and giving last minute advice.

 

Lance scans over each as he begins to nervously tap his fingers against his chair.

 

Adam MacDonal is dressed in the finest hunting gear - looking calm and collected. He bends to hear what his father has to say, nodding every now and again as he listens. Hunk Garrett - on the other hand - looks quite the opposite. He fidgets with his armour, adjusting it unnecessarily as his father attempts to bestow words of wisdom. Lance sympathizes with him, knowing what these men will soon face in the wilds before them.

 

Hunting a wolf alone is no small feat.

 

His gaze drifts over to Matthew Gunderson, where his younger brother Pidge is excitedly showing off a book. Inside looks to be detailed maps of the Highlands, which Lance doesn’t think is very fair, but he says nothing. He can’t start enforcing the rules when he’s about to bend them.

 

So he moves onto the last of the suitors: Keith of clan Kogane. The man Shiro is by his side, looking stern and composed, but Keith doesn’t appear to be listening to the advice being given, so Shiro gives up and steps back, staring over at the other contestants. Lance catches him smile suddenly, and notices Adam MacDonal biting back his own grin as he hastily glances away.

 

 _Curious,_ he thinks, wondering if the two know each other, but then Lady Krolia moves to Keith’s side, and Lance watches as she hands him something wrapped in leather. It’s small and slender, maybe the length of his forearm, but Keith doesn’t unwrap it. In fact, he looks rather startled that he’s being given such an object - whatever it may be - and begins to protest the gift. Lady Krolia merely shakes her head with a warm smile, pressing the object into Keith’s hands before patting his shoulder and wishing him luck.

 

 _Open it,_ Lance urges as Keith stares down at the bundle. _I want to see-_

 

Keith must sense he’s being watched, as his eyes snap up and catch Lance’s, narrowing as he huffs and turns away. Lance blinks as he realizes he was just given the cold shoulder, folding his arms over his chest in offense.

 

 _How dare he! He’s the one competing for_ my hand! _He shouldn’t be so-_

 

But he shakes his head of the thoughts, reminding himself that it doesn’t matter as his arm moves to the bag at his side.

 

_I should get moving soon…_

 

As if to reinforce the reminder his father stands, arms wide as he steps down from his chair and over to the competitors. All eyes immediately shift to him, giving Lance his chance to escape. He grabs his bag and sneaks behind the pavilion, changing into more breathable clothing as quickly as possible.

 

“My good people!” his father’s voice bellows joyfully. “We are honoured to have you here for this annual hunt!”

 

Boots are swapped. The tartan is tossed aside. Lance curses the weight of it as it nearly topples him over.

 

“I wish Brighid’s blessings on all the competitors. Adam of clan MacDonal-” the crowd cheers, Lord MacDonal’s voice loudest of them all. Lance dons his cloak, pulling up the hood as he makes his way around the pavilion into the throng of people.

 

“Hunk of clan Garrett-” again the people cheer, allowing Lance to sneak passed them with relative ease. “Matthew of clan Gunderson-” he’s getting closer now. Almost there…. “And Keith of clan Kogane!”

 

The applause is deafening, and Lance can see his father nodding at each of the suitors from where he hides.

 

_Any second now...almost..._

 

“Good luck to these brave men in their hunt! When the horn sounds the hunt begins! May these suitors be swift in bringing back a wolf for the honour of marrying my son-”

 

_There!_

 

The crowd gasps as Lance’s father gestures to where he’s _supposed_ to be sitting - up in the pavilion by his mother. But his chair is empty, and Lance watches in glee as his mother abruptly stands in shock upon noticing.

 

That’s his signal to act, and Lance does so with purpose, moving to stand in the opening by Keith while everyone is distracted.

 

He slams the banner of his family crest into the ground by the others - drawing back his hood as he calls out to the masses.

 

“I am Lance of clan McClain!” he announces loudly, bringing the attention to himself as the crowd begins to whisper in confusion. He can see the other competitors in his periphery - all looking stunned by his words. Keith is the only one unfazed, almost _smiling_ from what Lance can tell. His mother’s eyes land on him - burn directly through his soul - but Lance doesn’t falter. He holds her gaze, spiteful as it is, and lets everyone know his intentions.

 

“I am the firstborn son of Angus McClain, and I have every right to participate in this hunt.”

 

His mother is moving now, stepping down off the pavilion with a thundercloud of outrage circling around her. But still, Lance continues. Because he won’t back down. He won’t sit still and wait for his fate to come to him. He will _not_ accept marriage to a stranger.

 

 _He_ will fight for himself. _He_ will participate on his own behalf. _He_ will choose when the time is right to officially unite the clans.

 

 _I won’t let you make my decisions for me,_ he thinks with resolve, and then - using the most commanding voice he can muster - calls out:

 

“I will bring back a wolf for _my own hand!”_

 

The volume of the crowd grows, people exchanging startled looks and whispers, but Lance isn’t bothered. He whistles, and Kalte comes running from where she had been left to browse in the nearby pasture. Lance wastes no time mounting up, Kalte restless as she paws the ground in anticipation.

 

Because his mother is growing nearer, and Lance can hear her demands as she approaches.

 

“Lance you get down from there _right now!_ Enough of this _nonsense!”_

 

He ignores her, turning his head to the tower where the horn points out of the tallest window, and three little faces poke out and wave.

 

 _Oh, Brighid be blessed they did it!_ He thinks in relief, nodding once in their direction before turning back to the people: to the sea of coloured tartans and mixed emotions. His eyes return to his mother, who won’t bring herself to run but is clearly hurrying to reach him before he can make good on his word.

 

“Listen to me Lance! Call this off at _once!”_

 

_Sorry mum…_

 

“Let the annual hunt begin!” he shouts, and the horn blows - deep and guttural and _final_. Kalte rears but Lance holds on, turning her towards the woods where his trails are well-worn and familiar. Where his bow awaits. Where his _prize_ awaits.

 

Because he’ll win this. He _has_ to now.

 

Fates be damned. He’ll bring a wolf back for himself.

 

He just has to find one first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh the foreshadowing!
> 
> Also yes I know the song is played on a harp and not a lyre. Please don't @ me


	3. The Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance's search to change his fate doesn't end the way he'd expected, and he learns more about his fellow competitors - and those he hunts - without meaning to.
> 
> Traditions must be upheld and wisps may be followed. 
> 
> All Lance has to do is chose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! I wanted this chapter to have more excitement in it but it got rather long (I aim for~8k words a chapter) and I didn't want to keep you waiting.
> 
> Next chapter will be more eventful I promise :)

Lance doesn't think much about where Kalte is taking him at first.

 

His main goal after the horn blows is to put as much distance between himself and the festival as possible.

 

He knows his mother is furious. He knows she'll likely do everything in her power to stop him now - likely demanding his father bring him back as soon as possible.

 

It's because of that possibility that Lance knows the time he has to find and kill a wolf is limited, and if he can't complete his task before one of the others suitors then it will all be for naught.

 

So he holds tight as Kalte dashes through the woods until he can no longer hear the uproar of the festival - until he's sure he’s not being followed. It's then that he steers her towards the place he stashed his bow - counting his blessings that he'd thought to hide it as far as he did.

 

Once he has it he feels better. More prepared. Less anxious.

 

Or, well...a _different_ kind of anxious.

 

Because when Lance has his bow strung over his shoulder and arrows at his hip, he realizes the next step in his grand plan of boycotting marriage is to win the hunt.

 

Which...is _vague_ at best. Aside from the stories he's heard from his father and the limited training he has in tracking, Lance knows next to _nothing_ about hunting wolves.

 

He has no idea where to start or what to do. He's unsure how to go about his search for the beasts, much less take one down.

 

_Great. Maybe should have thought this one through a bit more…._

 

But it's hard to feel too disheartened - the adrenaline of defying his mother still ripe in his veins.

 

 _Oh, Brighid help me! She was so mad!_ He recalls with a guilty smile, too energized to allow shame to weigh down his thoughts. _She's gonna kill me if-_

 

A twig snaps in the bushes behind him, and Kalte's ears flatten as she whinnies nervously.

 

“Woah girl,” Lance soothes, but when he hears another - _closer_ \- crack he digs his heels into her side and holds tight as she takes off.

 

It's the flight or fight instinct, and too late Lance realizes he chose the wrong one to act on.

 

_Morrigan take me! What if it was a wolf!_

 

Which is doubtful, given how rotten Lance's luck has been of late, but still.

 

 _I shouldn't have run! I need to kill a wolf. I_ _need to win!_

 

They break free of the forest into a small clearing, and Lance slows Kalte to a walk as he rubs the side of her neck in a soothing motion, looking over his shoulder to ensure they hadn't been chased.

 

“It's okay,” he exhales when he sees the gaps between the trees vacant. “Nothing to worry about.”

 

The words - though meant for his horse - bring Lance some much-needed reassurance. Because as the adrenaline fades he notices that the time growing between the horn and the silence of the forest is thick with awareness.

 

He's alone, in the wilds, with nothing but his bow and his wits.

 

It's a sickening déja vu with all the opposite emotions he had felt when seeking the fire waters. He doesn't feel free, or giddy. His heart doesn't leap with every log Kalte jumps. He's not light and careless, as he had been only yesterday.

 

He's scared, to put it mildly. Terrified, really.

 

There's a lot of pressure to perform: to win.

 

 _But I will win,_ he thinks forcefully, banishing the doubt. _I have to._

 

As he inhales deeply to ease the shaking in his hands, Lance glances up at the horizon - visible in the clearing Kalte paces - and sees a familiar shadow over the landscape to the north.

 

_Wait….maybe-_

 

And as if sensing his thoughts, a blue flicker appears in the direction of the Altea Range - hovering above the ground and glowing in the shade of the undergrowth.

 

_A wisp!_

 

Lance waits for it to vanish, holding his breath when it doesn't, and then nods in sudden understanding when it doesn't.

 

_It wants me to follow it…_

 

Because what else could it mean? Actually, Lance can think of a _hundred_ different possibilities - warnings, messages, omens of all sorts - but he chooses to pick the one that benefits him the most: that the wisp is trying to help.

 

So he motions Kalte onward, and when it disappears as he draws closer Lance doesn't pause to wonder where it had gone.

 

He keeps his eyes forward, glued to the misty peak of Mamora's Blade in the distance.

 

“That's where I'll find what I'm looking for,” he says to himself, finding comfort in hearing the words out loud. “Wisps are messengers, after all.”

 

He urges Kalte into a run, the déja vu growing stronger as the roar of the fire waters begins to rumble in the trees around him - soft and muffled by the thick mossy ground.

 

It would be a more comforting sound if Lance wasn't so on edge, running through several possible scenarios should he return empty-handed.

 

There are only a few hopeful outcomes he can fathom - where his mother is proud of his efforts and sends the clans away out of respect for his decision - but those are more fantasies than anything. Whimsical dreams spoiled by the image of her frowning up at him as he disobeyed her orders.

 

He's almost looking forward to meeting a wolf so he can be more prepared to handle the scolding he'll receive once back home. But Lance finds the jest brings little comfort.

 

Wolves have always been a threat he'd heard about through others, and aside from his single - now faulty - recollection of encountering one when younger, his experience with the beasts is laughable.

 

_I didn't really plan this far ahead..._

 

A shiver runs over his arms, which he blames on the damp chill beneath the canopy of the forest and _not_ the memory of howling echoing in the mountains. A call of his own doing, unreciprocated but no less troublesome.

 

 _I’ll be sure not to do that again,_ he reasons as Marmora’s Blade looms larger through the gaps in the branches. _Besides, it’s frowned upon in competition. The hunt should be fairly won. I can’t give them any reason to deny my claim or victory._

 

_I'll bring back my own wolf._

 

When the trees begin to thin Lance slows Kalte to a trot to better hear his surroundings. Wolves in these regions are wary of men - with good reason. Finding one may not even be his biggest issue, but rather his speed in firing off an arrow before the animal has a chance to escape.

 

 _It’s a good thing I’ve been practicing,_ Lance thinks as he takes his bow off his back, nocking an arrow and holding the weapon loosely at his side. _Not that I’d been training for_ this _specifically...but still._

 

He keeps his eyes peeled as Kalte pants and moves up the gradual slope to the base of the mountains. Lance doesn’t want to go up to them completely, as he doubts wolves would wish to spend their free time around barren rock when the forests provide shelter and prey.

 

So he keeps to the edges of the wood, not breaking free of the trunks but not hiding within them either. He skirts the seemingly endless border of the Altea Range, keeping Marmora's Blade in sight but veering westward until the trees begin to change. Oaks transition into pines - the terrain becoming more rugged and wild as he toes the borders into the lands of the Koganes.  

 

“Come out come out, little wolfie,” Lance sings under his breath, voice unstable. It’s quiet around him. No birds sing in the branches, no wind plays in the leaves. It’s unsettling, but also annoying, and after a few hours Lance decides to try a different tactic. He dismounts and lets Kalte relax in a small, open meadow, stretching his legs and finding a warm rock on which to sit.

 

“This is exhausting,” he complains as he lays back, staring up at the sky where the clouds float in lazy lines above him. The sun is high - the competition almost half a day in - and Lance takes some comfort in the fact that no one has come to fetch him yet. “Maybe running away wouldn't be so hard. If only I could stay here, like this…”

 

His eyes drift closed - just for a moment - as he inhales the fresh scent of mountain air and pine needles, and then something in the woods snaps, thoroughly spoiling the relaxed atmosphere.

 

Lance jerks upward, twisting to stare at the place the sound had come from as his hand tightens around his bow. Shadows play with his eyesight, forcing him to stand and slowly approach the thickets where he'd heard it, keeping his weapon in front of him as he edges forward.

 

_This could be it. This could be a wolf. I can’t run away-_

 

Kalte snorts from across the meadow, causing Lance to yelp at the abrupt noise with his heart leaping into his throat. He whirls, bowstring taut and arms steady, but Kalte’s ears are forward, head down as she snorts once more in the direction of a rotted out log.

 

Lance exhales with some effort, pulse racing as he glances over his shoulder. But the woods are empty where he’d heard the twig break, so he turns towards his horse and relaxes his grip on the arrow, approaching the place Kalte seems to have an interest in.

 

“What is it-” Lance begins, but cuts off as he hears a small whimper originating from the log Kalte had been investigating, and she steps back with a startled huff.

 

“Easy,” Lance soothes, though he ducks behind her as he stares at the log as well, holding tight to her mane should he need to hoist himself up and flee at a moments notice.

 

After a minute or so with nothing jumping out at them, Lance squats and edges closer on his hands and knees, eyes narrowing as they adjust to the darkness of the wooden cavern. He can see movement from within - something small and hairy, whimpering every now and again.

 

_Is it a skunk? Or a squirrel? Perhaps a badger?_

 

And then he hears a howl - the softest, most pitiful sounding howl Lance could ever imagine - and a tiny head pokes out from the mass of fur, ears pointed but squat, eyes closed and nose twitching as it smells his unknown scent.

 

“A wolf-” Lance breathes, staring in shock as two more tiny pups poke their heads out from the log.

 

 _Oh, Brighid help me,_ he thinks in a panic, recoiling as a tiny pink tongue tries to lick at his hand. _What am I supposed to do?!_

 

No one has ever brought back a wolf pup for the hunt, and though it has never been clarified in the rules, he’s assuming the kill has to be an adult, otherwise it won’t count. And how could he even _fathom_ killing something so small and helpless, regardless of what it will grow into?

 

He taps his fingers against his bow as he stares at the pups, now crying forlornly and trying to reach his warmth.

 

It _has_ to be cold for them here, so near to the mountains, and without thinking Lance holds his hand out closer…. _closer_. He’s almost touching one when he hears a low growl across the way.

 

His head jerks up as Kalte rears in panic, taking off into the woods and leaving Lance alone in the meadow as a large, grey wolf steps out of the trees in front of him - snarling with her hackles raised as she slowly approaches.

 

Lance reacts in an instant, eyes wide and heart throbbing erratically in his chest as he brings his bow up and draws back, steadying himself on one knee as he takes aim.

 

Because he's in a bad place currently - inches from three pups that likely belong to the ragged looking predator watching him with deadly precision - without his horse for backup and only time to loose one arrow before it attacks.

 

_Kalte why did you run! You abandoned me!_

 

But that's as far as his thoughts can make it, as the wolf snarls again, stepping closer to where he's crouched by the log.

 

_What do I do?!_

 

His arms are surprisingly steady as he inhales rapidly through his nose, pulse thunderous in his ears as he stares at the she-wolf. Her eyes - a startling amber - dart between him and her pups, teeth bared as a deep rumble vibrates the air around him. It brings a chill to his skin, hair rising on the back of his neck.

 

Lance pulls the bowstring back further, feeling a tremble begin in his fingers as they brush against his cheek.

 

_I just have to let go. That's all. That's it. Just let go!_

 

But he can't. He's completely frozen stiff staring back at this wolf - this _prize_ that will earn him his freedom.

 

And he can do nothing.

 

One of the pups by Lance calls out suddenly - the familiar scent of family reaching its nose - and its mother blinks down at where the sound comes from. Her ears move forward as she listens to whatever the pup says, temporarily unconcerned with the arrow pointed at her heart.

 

Lance bites the inside of his cheek, legs burning and fingers tingling as the blood drains from them where they clench his weapon.

 

_C'mon...just shoot! Do it! This may be your only chance!_

 

The wolf mother smells the air, eyes moving back to Lance as she steps closer and raises her head.

 

 _Do it!_ Lance pleads, but his body won't listen. He's conflicted. Hesitant. Headache forming as one part screams for action and another pauses for reflection.

 

 _It's my heart,_ he understands with a jolt, nearly choking on the overwhelming fear in his throat. His emotions are more persuasive than rational thought, however, and Lance startles himself with his next realizations.

 

 _I can't kill her. I_ won't _kill her. She's done nothing to me, and my needs aren't more important than her life. Taking it...well. It wouldn't right._

 

His muscles release their tension, the fight draining from his bones as he exhales and lets his bow drop to his side. The wolf watches him the whole time, curiously now, but when she still hesitates in approaching Lance ducks his head to stare down at the puppies. They’ve emerged from the log now and are wagging their tiny fluff tails as they stare over at their mother.

 

“Go on,” Lance urges quietly - almost bittersweetly - and they run passed him, tripping over themselves as they do. It's like watching his chances at freedom dart clumsily away, but Lance finds himself smiling as the pups yip fondly to one another. He's cautious about his movements though, remaining still as he watches them return to their mother.

 

Just because he'd decided not to kill the wolves doesn't mean it's mutual.

 

As if to exemplify his point, the she-wolf lowers her head, greeting her babies with overzealous kisses before warily turning her attention back on him. Her ears are forward, head tilted and looking altogether less imposing now that her pups are safe.

 

But it brings Lance little comfort, especially when she steps towards him without the caution she had previously employed.

 

 _Oh no, no no no!_ Lance curses as he tries backing away, but his legs are stiff from the crouching position they'd been in and seize up painfully, preventing his retreat. _Morrigan take me! This is the end! The hunter becomes the hunted!_

 

_I should never have followed that stupid wisp!_

 

His eyes clench shut, body paralyzed as the wolf approaches. And just when he thinks he's about to be attacked, a cold, wet nose pokes against his forehead.

 

It pulls away after a short pause, and no teeth sink into his flesh. No claws find purchase in his clothing. He's a bundle of nerves and can feel each individual one relax as the seconds tick by.

 

And still, all he feels is the cool tingle where her nose had touched his skin.

 

_...what?_

 

Lance slowly opens his eyes, and the she-wolf steps back. Amber stares into blue, and he forgets to breathe as he processes all at once how _close_ she is. He can count the scars on her face, see the patterns of her fur. She watches him with almost human eyes, blinking when he does, pupils round and knowing.

 

Lance's fear ebs away as he sits staring at the wolf. She's just another big dog, like the hounds back at the castle, and he wonders how the legends of these beasts had grown so intense. What had they done to invoke such fear? Is it possible for them to tear apart villages in the dead of night, leaving nothing but rumours in their wake?

 

He's reminded of his recurring childhood dream, pensive as he frowns and struggles to grasp the two versions he now carries.

 

_Is it true that I was almost attacked? Is that really what happened that day?_

 

The she-wolf diverts her attention to her pups with a low rumble in her throat, watching them play at her side, and Lance feels his fingers twitch.

 

 _I wonder if she would let me pet her,_ he thinks - the spot on his forehead growing itchy as it dries. _She didn't attack me... even when I was right next to her babies._

 

His hand reaches out, slow and meticulous so as not to startle her, and her eyes flicker back to his face.

 

_Even with my bow pointed right at her heart..._

 

His fingers strain outward, shaking but determined, and she doesn’t pull away. Lance swallows with some effort - so close - wondering what her fur will feel like against his palm...

 

_Because she didn’t attack when she could have so easily. Why-_

 

Something loud crunches in the woods behind them, and the she-wolf snarls and jumps back as a voice calls out.

 

A _human_ voice.

 

_I forgot about the hunt!_

 

It yells Lance’s name, frantic and vaguely familiar, but the odd relief he feels is short-lived. The wolf's previous gentleness is gone, replaced by sharp teeth and dilated pupils as the sounds of someone charging in on horseback grow nearer.

 

“Wait, no-” Lance tries to calm her as she backs away, pups gathering around her in fear. He stands, arms out in front as he steps forward on numb legs. “It's okay! They won't hurt you-”

 

He's cut off by a sharp hiss as something slices through the air between them, thoroughly halting his approach. The wolves flee, darting off into the forests heading towards the Altea Range, and Lance blinks down at a knife stuck point-first in the ground at his feet.

 

It's unique - hilt carved with a symbol he doesn't recognize and blade almost a dark purple hue - but that's all he absorbs as he glares over at where it had come from.

 

“Who goes there!” he shouts, picking up his bow and drawing back. “Show yourself!”

 

No one answers, and right when Lance is about to go investigate that same voice from before calls out from behind him.

 

“There you are! I was so worried I was too late!”

 

Lance whirls, pointing his bow at the horse and rider that emerge from the woods opposite where the knife had come from. They falter upon exiting the safety of the trees - horse whinnying nervously at the strong scent of wolf in the meadow.

 

“Woah, hey it's just-AH!” Hunk of clan Garrett squeaks as he notices the arrow Lance has aimed at his chest. “It's just me!”

 

Lance pauses, eyes narrowing as he watches Hunk try - and fail - to soothe his horse, before slowly lowering his bow.

 

“What are you doing here?” he demands, and suddenly Kalte is there, trotting up to him and bumping into his back with her nose. “Where- _What is going on!?”_

 

Hunk answers in parts, head swiveling to face Lance as his mount turns in uneasy circles.

 

“She led me here,” Hunk explains, gesturing to Kalte in case Lance was unsure to whom he was referring. “She was frantic and anxious and kept running in circles until I followed. I thought maybe you’d been injured! Or _attacked!_ Are you okay?”

 

Lance frowns, ignoring Hunk’s concerns.

 

“Why did you come? The hunt isn't supposed to be a group effort. I won't accept any help-” but he trails off as Hunk shakes his head, smile fading as he avoids Lance's eyes.

 

“Um..right. about that…” he begins, inhaling deeply before going on. “The Queen - your mother - asked all of us….um...s-suito-”

 

“Competitors?” Lance fills, avoiding both hearing and speaking the other word they go by. Hunk nods warily, averting his gaze.

 

“Um...right. Yes. She ordered us to bring you back-”

 

Lance raises his bow again, drawing back and only feeling mildly guilty when Hunk yelps and lifts his hands over his head.

 

“Please, don’t shoot me! Or if you do aim for a part I can live without! Like my foot, or one of my ears…? Wait, no, that sounds _really_ painful. How about my thigh? Or skim my side-”

 

Lance doesn't mean to waiver, but Hunk’s nervous ramblings have him faltering.

 

_What am I thinking?! I can't shoot him! That's barbaric!_

 

So he lowers his bow again, slinging it over his shoulder as he jumps up on Kalte’s back.

 

“I don't care what my mother said,” he interrupts, glancing back over his shoulder at the place the wolves had fled and the spot the knife had come from. But there's nothing staring back at him from the shadows, so he sighs and turns over to Hunk. “I won't go back empty-handed.”

 

Hunk pauses, glancing around them uncomfortably as he shrinks in his saddle.

 

“She...said that you would say something like that,” he admits sheepishly. “And she also said that if we failed to bring you back she would hold our clans accountable for anything that happened-”

 

Lance groans, cutting Hunk off with the undignified sound.

 

“Um…” Hunk adds after a moment, biting his lower lip anxiously. It's obvious he's hesitant to continue, but he forges on, mustering whatever courage it takes to inform Lance of what else his mother had ordered them to do. “She...she also said that the hunt would be postponed until you returned-”

 

 _“WHAT?!”_ Lance hisses, startling both horses and Hunk with the severity of the sound. But he's _furious_! It's impossible! There's no way! Not after all his careful planning and bold announcements of winning for himself. She...she-! “She can't do that! The horn blew. The festival started! She _can't postpone the hunt!”_

 

Hunk looks conflicted, as if wanting to agree with Lance but too scared to voice that opinion. Lance doesn't entirely blame him. Defying the Queen is difficult enough to do as her son. He can't imagine what it would be like for an outsider like Hunk.

 

“She told us she _could_ so long as you were away. It isn't official with the prince missing, apparently. She demanded we bring you back so the _real_ hunt could begin. Everyone is out searching. Well,” Hunk shrugs then, smirking. “ _Almost_ everyone.”

 

“Meaning?” Lance prods when Hunk doesn't elaborate. He has very limited patience and his mood is only getting worse.

 

“Well,” Hunk hums, adjusting his weapons belt as his horse finally calms enough to rest in one place. “The suitor from clan Kogane - um...Kevan? Karl?”

 

 _Keith,_ Lance corrects mentally, shocking himself that he remembered. _Not that it matters._

 

“Anyway,” Hunk continues indifferently, “he charged off right after you left. He was grinning, which was weird, considering the hunt means killing a _wolf_ and they're, like, _against_ that so…”

 

Lance frowns at the new - seemingly unimportant - information.

 

“The eldest Gunderson boy was about to go as well when the Queen demanded we wait. She said without you present the hunt was void, and if we _let_ you go after finding you she would hold us responsible for anything that happened to you in the wilds. Our new instructions were to bring-”

 

“Bring me back, yeah,” Lance cuts in, rubbing his temples as a headache begins to take over.

 

 _I should have known she would try something like this. She would_ never _sit idly by and let me try to compete! Meddlesome woman! I won’t let her do this!_

 

He tugs Kalte’s reins back towards the mountains, not even caring about finding wolves at this point. He needs to run away. He needs to _escape_ before his entire life is ruined.

 

But before he can leave, Hunk speaks from behind him, voice surprisingly soft and understanding.

 

“Look,” he begins, sighing. “I know this isn’t something you want. And - if you would allow me to be honest…” he trails off, waiting for permission. Lance - intrigued without wanting to be - nods without turning, and Hunk continues. “I _also_ don’t want this.”

 

_Wait….what?_

 

Lance’s brows jump up on his forehead as he swivels to stare at the boy in mild bewilderment.

 

“You...don’t?”

 

Hunk’s cheeks darken as he begins to smile shyly.

 

“I mean no offense, Highness-”

 

“Just call me by my name,” Lance corrects, and Hunk nods.

 

“There’s just...when I heard we were invited to compete for your hand in marriage, I told my father that I was honoured, but that I couldn’t accept. I…” and he breaks off again, staring intently at a patch of white wildflowers. He smiles again, fondness etched in every line on his face. “My heart belongs to someone else.”

 

Lance’s jaw goes slack, and he has to remind himself to close it when Hunk lifts his gaze.

 

“I’m sorry High-... _Lance_ , but I love someone already. A girl, from a village near my home. I was planning on throwing the competition and letting someone else win so I could ask her to marry me when this was all over.”

 

 _What in the world?_ Lance thinks, tardily comprehending Hunk’s explanation. _He loves someone already? Then-_

 

“-why did you come at all?” he hears himself ask out loud, unsure how to feel. He’s not _upset_ by any means. In fact, Hunk’s confession proves Lance’s point: that they should be allowed to choose for themselves who they end up with. But he’s also curious as to why Hunk would reveal something so personal. They’re strangers. _Rivals_ , currently. Why admit he had no intention of competing seriously? Why not just marry his girl and live happily without all this fuss?

 

Hunk rubs the back of his neck and exhales, shoulders sagging.

 

“Likely the same reason you felt you had to compete for your own hand,” he explains with a knowing look. “My father insisted marrying the prince would give myself and my clan a better future - a higher standing. He said it was my responsibility to try and win, and that the girl I love was nothing in comparison to you. It was my-”

 

“-duty,” Lance finishes, staring at Hunk as the boy nods solemnly.

 

“Apparently, yes. I tried to argue my way out of it but he was insistent.”

 

_So I’m not the only one…._

 

Lance sighs, rubbing his eyes as he leans forward into Kalte’s neck.

 

“I don’t mean to insult you in any way,” Hunk goes on. “It’s just, I _know_ her. She makes me smile...helps me design and build my ships. She’s strong, amazing, and I’m sorry-”

 

“Don’t apologize for love,” Lance scolds - voice muffled by Kalte’s mane. “I will not allow it.”

 

“Then I won’t,” Hunk assures. “But I _am_ sorry for lying. I didn’t mean to deceive you in any way. It’s just my father-”

 

“It seems our parents are more invested in this marriage than we are,” Lance cuts in with a humourless laugh. “None of them even bothered to ask what their children wanted.”

 

“Perhaps,” Hunk drawls, tone light and friendly. “Though I can only speak for myself. I’m sure the other suitors _definitely_ want to marry you. You are a prince, after all.”

 

Lance knows Hunk means that as a compliment, but he still flinches, having heard similar words from Coran.

 

_Sure, they may wish to marry me, but only because of what I am, not who. I doubt any of them even care about knowing me in any other way outside of my royal lineage._

 

But he’ll keep that to himself. Hunk may have felt comfortable enough to tell him his intentions and tales of woe, but Lance isn’t about to open up about how being wanted superficially and being _loved_ truly are two _very_ different things.

 

_Though it seems the lines between them are blurred when you’re the prince._

 

“I really am sorry,” Hunk says after a long pause, words kind and sincere. Lance finally sits up, biting his tongue to keep the tears from his eyes.

 

“It's fine,” he speaks softly - defeated - staring at the ground as he turns Kalte away from the mountains. “It’s my duty, right? I was a fool for thinking I could change that.”

 

“Lance, I-”

 

But Lance waves him off, swallowing thickly as he accepts what he has to do.

 

“I won't ask you to disobey your Queen.”

 

 _And I won’t let you be held accountable for my mistakes,_ he adds internally, _especially when you have a life waiting outside of this hunt._

 

Hunk sags in relief, beaming as he likely realizes Lance won't put up a fight or run off.

 

He _wants_ to. Badly. Probably _would_ if it were anyone else who had found him first. But Hunk is genuine - a pure soul with legitimate decency and a heart big enough to tell him the truth. He's the last person Lance wants his mother blaming for not bringing him back - knowing her scorn would break the son of Gregor Garrett.

 

So he nods after a moment, wishing he didn’t care as much as he does about Hunk’s story and the consequences he would face should he return alone. Empathy is a curse, but Lance can’t bring himself to break it.

 

“Alright. Let's go then.”

 

Hunk smiles, waiting for Lance to lead the way before falling into step beside him. He remains quiet - for which Lance is grateful - and pretends not to notice when Lance looks back over his shoulder, watching the meadow grow shrouded from view as they head into the trees.

 

But no wolves stare back through the shadows - no amber eyes watch him from their depths. It leaves Lance conflicted, wondering if he'd made the right choice, shamed that he has to question his decision.

 

 _It wouldn't have mattered anyway,_ he concludes gravely. _Her death wouldn't have saved me from my fate._

 

So he turns away, head held high as he and Hunk make their way back to the castle.

 

As broken as he feels inside, Lance won't let it show. He won't let his mother see him that way. Won't let regret tarnish his pride.

 

Instead, he thinks about the arguments he’ll use once home, steeling himself now in preparation for the battle to come.

 

Because nothing compares to the wrath of an angry mother - either wolf or human - and Lance wonders if he'll be fortunate enough to survive another encounter with one.

 

The teeth, in this case, may be preferable to the bark, and already his ears are ringing.

 

 _Oh well. Maybe I can still reason with her…_ he thinks with misplaced optimism.

 

_All she has to do is listen._

 

* * *

 

He really should have known better.

 

The _moment_ he steps through the gates she’s there, practically dragging him off his horse away from Hunk and the other competitors, save for Keith of clan Kogane, who has yet to return.

 

Lance barely has time for embarrassment as he’s escorted roughly through the castle, up to his bed chambers where she slams the door shut and waits a full three seconds before whirling.

 

“How _dare_ you!” she accuses, storming forward. Lance holds his ground, jaw clenched as he breathes steadily through his nose. “You made a _fool_ of our family! Running off into the woods after declaring you would fight for your own hand...what an _insult_ to those we invited here-”

 

“Who _you_ invited,” Lance mumbles under his breath, and she narrows her eyes.

 

“You are a McClain. Your actions are our actions are the actions of this clan. You are not some _stable boy_ who can do as he pleases without consequence! You are a _prince,_ Lance. It’s time you started _acting_ like one-”

 

“Can a prince not make his own decisions?!” Lance argues back, tossing his hands in the air as his mother shakes her head in frustration. She turns away, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Mother, _listen to me!_ I’m not _ready!”_

 

He makes sure to enunciate each word, but she only huffs and straightens, hands smoothing the front of her dress as she begins to pace.

 

“You _are_ ready. You’re of age, and it is your responsibility to the other clans-”

 

“In what _way?!_ ” Lance cuts her off, watching her pace with increasing annoyance.

 

_Just look at me! Listen!_

 

“How is _any of this_ my responsibility! What have I done to organize this festival? Who have I contacted to join? When did I consent to be a _prize_ to be _won!_ This is not my responsibility. This is _you_ using me as an offering for a more stable relationship with the clans. You may as well just offer up my crown, the response would be the same-”

 

“Listen to yourself,” she interrupts, not bothering to spare him a glance as she moves about the room. “You sound like a child, arguing that the world is unfair and you’re the only one suffering. Marriage is not the end of your life-”

 

“It may as well be.”

 

“-and those men out there are competing for your hand,” she ignores him. “You should be _honoured_ that they decided to show up at all-”

 

“As if they had a choice?!” Lance fumes. “I doubt any of them are here because they _want_ to be.”

 

“Nonsense,” she chides, hands clasped tightly in front. “They are here because they have an opportunity to marry you. They are _fortunate_ to be able to compete.”

 

“But none of them _want_ to!” Lance tries to explain. “Hunk told me himself he-” but he cuts off abruptly, hands going to his mouth as his mother halts her pacing, brows lowering as she tilts her head to the side.

 

“Hunk? Of clan Garrett? What did he tell you?”

 

“Nevermind, it’s unimportant-”

 

“Did he _admit_ that he did not wish to compete?” She doesn’t wait for Lance to answer, resuming her frenzied walk as she murmurs to herself. “If clan Garrett does not want to participate in the festival then I must discuss this with your father. It could mean ill intentions towards our family. Is Gregor planning something?”

 

“Mum, that’s not-”

 

“Did Hunk say anything else?” she demands, diverting her attention back on him. “Lance if they are planning a mutiny we must-”

 

_“Listen to me!”_

 

She blinks at his sharp tone, the startled expression of having been yelled at brief but present. She closes her mouth after a pause, regaining some composure as she lifts her chin for Lance to go on.

 

_Finally...!_

 

He inhales deeply, stabilizing himself before starting with the broader questions first.

 

“Why is all this necessary?”

 

Which... is a mistake. She huffs, and Lance catches the tail end of an eye roll as she turns away.

 

“We've been over this-”

 

 _“No!_ We _haven't!_ ” Lance strains, rushing to stand in front of her. “You've _told_ me several times that it's my duty but _why?!_ Why is marriage the answer? Why not another treaty?”

 

“It's not that easy-”

 

“But _why?!”_

 

She falters - iron exterior melting for a split second - and Lance takes advantage of the slip. He reaches for her hands, squeezing them in his own as he pleads his case.

 

“Mum, why can't things stay as they are? Why bother with a marriage that I am _clearly_ against? Why not let me travel to the other clans and meet with the _suitors_ who-”

 

“It goes against tradition-”

 

“ _What_ tradition?! Marrying a stranger? There _has_ to be a reason you're pushing this-”

 

“It’s to honour the other clans!” she snaps, taking her hands away from his before moving to sit on the edge of his bed. “It’s about respecting them and their rights.”

 

Lance’s mouth opens, but he closes it as she pats the spot beside her. When he remains rooted in place she sighs sadly and continues.

 

“As you know, royals are determined by the masses - followed and trusted based on their actions. There is no guarantee that a king today will be a king tomorrow, and it takes _effort_ and _sacrifice_ to hold the title within a family. Long ago, when the lands were new and the legends only memories, Zar of clan Kon held the crown.”

 

Lance groans, shoulders sagging forward as he turns away.

 

“Mum! I don’t want to hear one of your bedtime stories-”

 

“You asked, Lance,” she cuts him off sternly. “This is my answer.”

 

_But I wanted a real reason, not some myth…_

 

“He was a just man,” she goes on, “said to be kind and intelligent - and when the day came for him to marry and secure his family's name and title, all the clans of the time presented their suitors. But Zar refused them all, claiming his heart belonged to another. She was a peasant woman - said to be a witch who lived in the farthest reaches of the Spurs - who belonged to no clan, and the other families disapproved of his decision. They would not follow someone who put his own needs above those of his people - denying them the opportunity to share the weight of the crown - and warned him that his choice would bring nothing but ruin.”

 

Lance stares out the window as she speaks, glaring at the setting sun that paints the hills pink and purple as it prepares to sleep for the night. He knows of this story already, but he dares not interrupt anymore.

 

_Clearly she has a point to make. I just have to be patient until she does._

 

“He did not listen and turned his back on his allies. He married the woman, and they had a son not long after. However, his birth was not celebrated. The other clans felt they had been disgraced and agreed that they would not follow any future heir of the Kon name. Not long after both mother and child went missing. Zar searched for many moons, and eventually, scraps of their clothing were found in the depths of the wilds - torn apart by the direwolves who roamed the lands.”

 

“Mum-” Lance groans skeptically, but she goes on unhindered.

 

“Zar was overcome with rage, and called for the other clans to help avenge their deaths by killing off the beasts, but no one answered. He was abandoned, and in his grief, his kingdom fell. The Isles of Kon, known now as the Shards, are said to be haunted by his spirit - his wails of anguish over his lost ones eerily familiar to the cries of the direwolves of old.”

 

Her story ends, but Lance waits a minute or so before finally turning with one brow raised.

 

“Finished?” he asks, and she nods. “Perfect. So _what_ exactly did that answer?”

 

She huffs, standing abruptly to approach him. Her hands reach out to fuss with his hair, but Lance can’t bring himself to pull away from her gentle touch.

 

“It’s a reminder that those recognized as royals must uphold the needs of the those who support them. The presentation of suitors, the competitions for their hands...these are _old_ traditions that have helped keep the clans at peace. The follies of clan Kon are a reminder that we are _nothing_ without the help of the other families. Respect must be earned, and power can be taken away. Just look at what happened when Zar asked for help with the wolves-”

 

“Why is it _always_ about wolves?!” Lance grumbles, shoving away her arms and messing up his hair. Gentle touch or not, his mother is being ridiculous. He had been hoping for some legitimate explanation, not a fairytale meant for children. “You expect me to marry someone I don’t know or love because some _prince_ of old followed his heart?”

 

“That’s not the point of the-”

 

“Then what’s the moral of the story?!”

 

“We must _learn_ from mistakes made in the past and uphold the traditions of-”

 

“For how _long_ , mother!” Lance demands, not caring if the entire castle hears him. “Even if that story _were_ true, it was _ages_ ago! Why do _I_ or _anybody_ else have to keep paying for a mistake we didn’t make!”

 

“Lance-”

 

“How come marrying for love is frowned upon in this land!”

 

“I never said-”

 

“Why can’t-”

 

_“ENOUGH!”_

 

Lance’s mouth snaps shut, eyes wide at the enraged tone his mother had used. It’s unlike her to raise her voice, much less tolerate arguing, but to actually shout at him? He shrinks back, despite being taller than her, and her chest heaves as she fights to keep her anger in check.

 

“Enough, Lance,” she repeats after a long moment of silence, one hand going to her temple. “I will no longer tolerate this behaviour. You are a prince. You have expectations to fulfill whether you like them or not.”

 

His jaw is beginning to hurt from withholding tears, but he fights the pain by diverting it elsewhere - digging his fingernails into his palms as she heads for the door.

 

“I expect you to apologize to each of the clan leaders and their sons tomorrow morning, and be a gracious host for when the _real_ hunt begins.”

 

The door opens, and before she steps through she turns back to look at him - face softening and mouth opening to speak - but she closes it not long after, deciding against whatever she had been about to say in favour of a final statement to end the discussion.

 

“You _will_ marry, Lance. All you have to do is wait for your wolf. It’s not difficult, so I ask you to stop trying to make it so.”

 

She leaves, and Lance is left alone in his room - dark now that the sun has set and the fireplace remains empty. He waits until his mother’s footsteps fade away down the hall, and when hot droplets begin to spill over his cheeks he doesn’t bother wiping them away.

 

He’s not sure for how long he remains staring at his door, waiting for her to return and amend her decision, but enough time passes that Lance realizes she won’t. Her mind is made up, and there’s nothing he can do to change it.

 

His vision goes blurry with tears, chest throbbing and jaw quivering, but still, he stands alone in his room.

 

And when his feet go numb and his knees begin to shake, Lance nods once: firm and final. He gathers up his things, shoves them into a bag, and finally dries his face with his sleeve.

 

 _Sorry, mum,_ he thinks earnestly, shattered and betrayed, cracking open his door and glancing down the hall. _But I can’t accept this._

 

He runs and doesn’t look back.

 

* * *

 

Despite the castle being filled to the brim with more eyes than Lance is typically used to, he manages to reach Kalte’s stall with relative ease. She’s sensitive to his mood - the emotions he’s currently battling - but doesn’t waver as he mounts up and urges her towards the back gates.

 

He’s not alone, however, and as he passes through into the outer fields he hears two voices off to his right, behind a wooden stable where visitors can leave their horses for the night. It’s usually unmanned, and Lance shrinks into the shadows as he motions Kalte away from the building.

 

_Who-_

 

But then he hears one of them speak.

 

“-called off the hunt?”

 

 _Keith of clan Kogane..._ Lance recognizes. _He’s only just returning? Why was he out so late?_

 

Krolia’s voice follows after, hushed and almost bored.

 

“Postponed it, until the prince returned.”

 

“Why?” Lance hears Keith ask, tone indignant. “Did something happen?”

 

“I didn’t think it my place to ask,” Krolia explains with a sigh. “But he didn’t look pleased about coming back.”

 

“You saw him?”

 

Krolia must nod in the resulting pause.

 

“I don’t blame him,” Keith huffs, sounding almost angered himself. “How is that fair?”

 

Lance blinks at the unexpected sympathetic tone - especially coming from a Kogane - but then his lower lip begins to tremble as the conversation with his mother resurfaces.

 

 _It’s_ not _fair,_ he thinks mournfully, and quietly clicks his tongue for Kalte to move. He can’t linger here any longer. He needs to go.

 

The hood of his cloak is drawn up and over his head, hiding him in the darkness of the night as he flees the castle. Once in the forest, he lets Kalte take the lead, not caring where they end up, so long as it’s far away from his pre-determined fate.

 

And he cries - not knowing when it started - but letting the tears flow unchecked as the wind pulls at his clothing. No one is around to watch him break, and even if they were they wouldn’t understand. His sobs are tattered and wrecked, hiccups of bitter remorse that merge with the sounds of the night.

 

The worst part is that he _hates_ that he’s leaving. This is his _home,_ his _family…_

 

Lance can't help but feel selfish that he's chosen this path, but he knows where the other one will take him. Maybe it _is_ only marriage, and maybe he _would_ eventually learn to love the person he ended up with. But it's the lack of _choice_ that Lance is struggling with. If he can't fall in love naturally and in his own time then what _can_ he decide for himself?

 

It's not some minor life event. Marriage is a _big deal._ It's _forever._ And just because it worked for his parents doesn't guarantee that it'll work for him!

 

 _If I knew the suitors at all it would be different,_ he reasons, eyes shut as Kalte runs. _But they're strangers. I don't know anything about them, and they only know select details about me!_

 

_What if we hated one another? What if they expected me to sit alone in the castle running the kingdom while they explored new lands? What if they were just like mum, wanting me to be something I'm not!?_

 

_I can't settle for that fate._

 

So he won’t. _Isn’t._ He clings to Kalte, numbing his thoughts to avoid overthinking, and blocks out the rest of the world.

 

Or... _tries_ to, at least. It’s made a tad more difficult when Kalte comes to an abrupt halt - nickering a low warning that Lance is apparently too late to heed. He’s sent flying as she digs her front legs into the ground, hands slipping from her mane in shock as he yelps and flips forward through the air - stomach lurching in a few seconds of vertigo. It ends precipitously as he lands with a solid thud onto the oddly frigid ground - pain vibrating up his arms from his hands taking most of the impact of the fall.

 

 _“Kalte!”_ he chastises roughly, wincing as he rolls onto his side. “Why-” but he cuts off, eyes widening as he stares up at several massive, oblong stones towering above him towards a starless sky. He sits up, ignoring the throb in his ankle as he glances around at the stone circle Kalte threw him into.

 

It’s situated on a hill, surrounded by unfamiliar woods and an eerie mist that creeps along the ground like some living thing - cautiously twisting and turning but too afraid to venture into the stones.

 

It brings a chill to his skin, and Lance’s eyes drift to each unique, evenly-spaced marker.

 

There are nine in total, looking like pointed, misshapen obelisks three times his height and carved with worn-down runes. He doesn’t bother trying to decipher their meaning. He has an odd sensation of recognition, somehow knowing which ring of sacred stones he’d fallen into despite never being here before.

 

_The Witch’s Crown…._

 

The words are whispered in his thoughts with a growing dread - the stories surrounding the fabled rocks ominous and poorly documented. Lance remembers reading about them, but he doesn't know where, or for what reason. Perhaps they were just another legend: a story told to bring sleep.

 

_What did mum use to say about them…?_

 

Kalte whinnies from outside the circle, pawing the ground and snorting nervously, but Lance doesn’t turn her way.

 

Something catches his eye on the other side of the stones beyond, and Lance’s breathing quickens as a flicker of blue appears in the mists surrounding the clearing. Another appears behind it, then another, and _another,_ until a trail of ethereal blue fire ignites a path through the ancient trees, humming in a manner that reminds Lance of the bard woman Romelle.

 

It’s magic, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Seeing one wisp is a message. A sign. _This_...this is something much more, and Lance knows he’d be a fool to ignore them.

 

_I've followed one already, why stop now?_

 

So he stands, patting Kalte’s nose soothingly as she skirts the stones to be at his side when he steps outside of the circle, watching the wisps float and sing their song as they lead away from The Witch’s Crown.

 

 _Here goes nothing,_ Lance thinks with a decisive nod, brows lowering as he inhales deeply.

 

He steps forward, letting his heart guide him, and follows the wisps into the unknown.

 


	4. The Witch's Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance comes to realize the warnings against interacting with fae are warranted. They're...an interesting sort. Captivating. Lovely. 
> 
> Absolutely terrifying.
> 
> But they work in magic, and that's what Lance needs. Too bad it takes such an appetizing form.

He can get about an arm's length away from the wisps before they disappear, popping up again somewhere down the overgrown understory to show him the right path.

 

It's almost like a game, and if Lance were in a better frame of mind he might be more apt to play along.

 

But he follows in silence, reassured by Kalte's warm breath on the back of his neck as she sticks close behind him.

 

_At least she didn't run off this time._

 

Being alone is something Lance is deathly afraid of - especially now when the trees bend at strange angles, thick with moss and carrying no signs of life. No birds sing. No branches creak. The earth beneath his feet is soft and spongy, absorbing all noise and lending to the ominous aura of the forest in which he walks.

 

The only thing Lance hears is the otherworldly hymn of the wisps, sounding like children laughing in the distance despite being directly before him.

 

But it's the mist that clings to his feet - the hands of lost souls desperate and helpless - that Lance is most wary of.

 

It's a cold mist. A thick fog. And Lance worries that if he stops or loses sight of the wisps he'll be swallowed by it.

 

Devoured.

 

Lost: only to join the hands that reach for him from beyond.

 

He questions his decision - not for the first time - and is in the middle of debating whether he could find his way back if he and Kalte run when the wisps suddenly vanish.

 

All of them, all at once, like a draft over lit candles.

 

Lance freezes, eyes wide as he waits for the icy embrace of those hands to take him, but the mist recoils when the wisps vanish, as if they had been drawn to _their_ light, and not Lance's audible pulse.

 

He takes some comfort in that knowledge, and then Kalte pushes into his back. Lance stumbles forward - ready to scold her - when he spots a faint pillar of smoke.

 

 _A house?_ he wonders, feet carrying him forward as he scrambles up the small hill where the wisps had been. A tiny hut lies on the other side, nestled in a massive root wad of a long-since fallen tree.

 

It's a quaint hut, complete with a rounded door and a single glazed window. But it's the flicker of orange light from within that has Lance hurrying forward, more curious than cautious of whoever lives this far in the woods.

 

Kalte hesitates behind as he approaches, but must decide that being together in the face of danger is preferable to being alone in the unknown, as she whinnies gruffly and trots after him down the hill.

 

“They might be able to help us,” Lance tells her when her nose presses into his side. “Just wait here.”

 

His breathing is erratic, but he doesn't pause to calm it.

 

_The wisps led me here. There must be a reason._

 

He lifts his hand, ready to knock, but before his knuckles brush against the wood the door swings open. Lance blinks at the light that pours out - piercing and almost painful after the dark conditions he'd traveled through.

 

He hesitates at the step until his eyes adjust, but even when they do Lance still struggles to grasp what it is he sees.

 

The room - what limited part of it he can view from the doorway - is brimming with a dazzling array of...well...he's not exactly sure.

 

Glass figurines, perhaps? But no. Glass doesn't shine that way, as if the light source burns from within. Maybe it's quartz, or diamond, or some other precious stone Lance can't name.

 

Regardless, the hut reminds him of the strange rocks the traders bring: dull and boring on the outside but filled with colourful crystals when cracked open.

 

It renders him breathless, and he thinks he may be staring at pure starlight trapped in delicately carved jewels that fill every surface, wondering which manner of being could possibly live in such a metaphorical geode.

 

And then - to answer his unspoken question- someone speaks.

 

“Ah welcome! Take a look around, let me know if anything meets your fancy!”

 

The voice is delicate and refined, carrying an accent Lance is unfamiliar with, and he leans forward through the doorway to see who it belongs to.

 

“Hello?” he calls out, squinting against the shine of the room. A woman is busy tending some plants on the far side of the hut, her back to him as she hums a tune under her breath. Her hair is long and white, reminding Lance of the pearls his mother wears on special occasions.

 

_Is she a wise woman? Or maybe an old witch-_

 

Lance’s thoughts are abruptly cut short as the woman turns and he sees her face for the first time.

 

It’s...unique, to sum it in a word. Her skin is a dark earthy tone, smooth and young in contradiction to the colour of her hair. He had assumed she was an elder, but the woman he sees before him looks no older than himself.

 

That’s as far as the similarities go, however, as the rest of her appearance is entirely new to Lance.

 

Strange coloured markings rest high on her cheekbones, resembling arrowheads flipped upside down. Her ears are sharp and pointed - teeth even more so from what he can tell. She moves fluidly, delicately, _purposefully,_ and Lance knows not to underestimate her strength. She may stand a head shorter than himself, but her presence is intimidating - warning him not to try anything unless he favours death.

 

But the most interesting thing about the woman is her eyes. They shift in the light of the hut, blue one moment, pink the next, flickering with purple each time she blinks. Lance half expects her pupils to be slitted like those of a cat, but aside from the strange hue, her eyes are human.

 

Or...well... _mostly_ human.

 

“Oh!” she squeaks, genuinely surprised as she takes him in. “What are you?”

 

 _What…am I?!_ Lance sputters, grip tightening on the doorframe. _I should be the one asking that!_

 

“Do you mean ‘who’?” he asks slowly, and she tilts her head.

 

“No. But if you wish to give me your name I will not object.”

 

“Oh. Well, I’m...uh-” he falters, recalling the warnings to never tell one's name to strange beings. The fae have a habit of tricking people into complacency when true names are spoken, and Lance has no doubt that the person to whom he’s speaking is one such individual. He holds his tongue, and the woman laughs.

 

“A wise decision,” she applauds lightly. “Though I do not stoop to such childish trickery.”

 

Lance’s skepticism must be discernable, as the woman grins - _yep, those are sharp teeth -_ moving to stand in front of him.

 

“I can tell you still do not trust me. You were raised to fear our kind, but we are not all the same folk. The fae of this land are not the fae of mine, though I apologize on their behalf if they have caused you any woe.”

 

Lance frowns.

 

“Fae are fae. Why should I believe you are any different?”

 

The woman titters, hair falling into her face as she shakes her head.

 

“I must be in the realm of men,” she mutters under her breath, moving to one of the many tables brimming with glistening objects. She picks one up, holding it out for him to see as he steps fully into the room, and Lance stares down at the small, translucent humanoid shape held between her fingers. “If someone of your kind does something terrible, say... _murders_ an innocent life-” the figure begins to change, light vanishing from within it to be replaced by shadow. Lance’s breath hitches, but he can’t look away. “Are all of you then murderers as well?”

 

She holds out her other hand, where several identical figures undergo the same transformation as the first - engulfed in shadow from the inside out.

 

Lance backs away in horror.

 

“No! Of course not! That's hardly fair.”

 

Her eyes narrow, and the figures vanish.

 

“And what if that someone was _not_ of your kind?” Another crystal appears between her fingers, and Lance gasps as it morphs from a bear to a wildcat to a snake, finally settling on the uncanny shape of a wolf.

 

He gapes down at it, feeling his cheeks heat unpleasantly before averting his eyes.

 

“That’s different.”

 

“In what way?”

 

“They-it’s because…I-” he stumbles, remembering the stories he’d heard of villages and people attacked before his father united the clans. He’s known wolves to be a danger his entire life, save for the - now _two_ \- occasions where his memories differ from the tales of others. But those mean _nothing_ in comparison to the countless other encounters he’s known to have occurred. They're outliers to the masses. Exceptions to be ignored.

 

But how can he explain that?

 

In the end, he doesn't, tossing his hands in the air as he goes with what he's been told for so long. “It just is, okay? Wolves are bad. They kill. They deserve to di-”

 

But he’s cut short as the room suddenly darkens - all light dimming as the woman’s eyes flash a deep burgundy. Her hair moves despite there being no breeze, and when she steps forward Lance shies away at her increased height and more prominent animalistic features, petrified by the abrupt change in her demeanor and appearance. He thinks he may die here, struck down by a fae he'd been fool enough to approach.

 

“Be careful with how you speak,” the woman growls, voice low and menacing as she bears down on him. “And do not lie to me.”

 

 _Lie…?_ Lance thinks frantically. _When did I lie?_

 

“I didn’t-” he tries, but the darkness vanishes as the light returns, the woman stepping back and smoothing her hair down with a gracious smile. Lance watches her warily, pressed against the wall as his knees tremble weakly. He dares not speak - hardly _breathes_ \- lest she turns on him again.

 

“The crimes of one are not the crimes of all,” she condones after a moment, moving back to her plants with the same airy voice from when he’d first entered. “Those different from ourselves are privy to the same exceptions you give to your own kind.”

 

“I agree in premise,” Lance finds himself arguing, pushing off the wall as if forgetting the fear he'd only just felt. “But how many men have died because of wolves? How many innocent hunted and killed?”

 

She watches him - eyes dancing with colour - and coils a strand of hair around her finger.

 

“Can such questions not be asked of both? Why can one kill and be rewarded while the other is punished?”  

 

“It-” Lance huffs, growing impatient. “It was self-defense. We had no other choice.”

 

“Perhaps for a time,” she counters, unwavering in her eye contact. “But what of now?”

 

“The wolves attacked first,” Lance spits, ignoring how childish he sounds. “They started it all.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“It's in books! Stories, legends, songs-”

 

“All written by man, yes?”

 

Lance's mouth opens to retort but closes as her words sink in. Her point - obscure as it is - is valid. Wolves cannot communicate with humans, so far as he's aware.

 

“Darkness is not the default,” she continues in his silence. “But light is not freely given. Most of us are overcast - clouded individuals who pray for sun when the threat of rain looms on the horizon. But we are all equal in choice, differing only in our actions. Each living thing is entitled to that right, and we can only judge them based on which they choose.”

 

She glances over at him again, raising one brow knowingly.

 

“You would do well not to forget that, Lance of clan McClain.”

 

Lance chokes, coughing as he swallows incorrectly and is rendered incapable of inhaling. He slams a fist into his chest, clearing his throat as he gapes over at the woman.

 

“How did you know-”

 

“I know much, young Highness,” she answers smoothly, waving a hand around her home. “I have lived a long time. Seen many a thing. The wind holds fathomless secrets. One just has to listen.”

 

“What are you?” he breathes in wonder, and she smirks.

 

“I go by many names, but I believe in this land I am called an Altean.”

 

Lance stiffens, connecting the dots between her bizarre appearance and the legends he knows of such beings.

 

_Shapechangers. Nature spirits. Bringers of both good and bad fortune. The people of the mountains - of which the range is named._

 

He thinks he should run, but his feet remain rooted.

 

_No. I can’t. The wisps led me here. She can help me. She has to!_

 

So he bows his head in greeting, thinking it best to act his most polite self to such a powerful fae.

 

“I am humbled,” he admits, lifting his gaze to rest on her face. “But if you preach equality I think it only fair I know your true name as well.”

 

She grins, markings on her cheeks glowing softly, and mimics his bow.

 

“You tempt the fates, Lance of clan McClain, being so bold as to ask my name.”

 

“Sometimes the fates need tempting,” he answers suavely, thinking back to the wisps. “And sometimes changing.”

 

She hums at that, and after a short pause, she steps forward, holding out her hand for him to take.

 

“You may call me Allura,” she insists, and Lance nods as he smiles in reply, shaking her hand gently. He feels something prick his finger and pulls back with a yelp, but Allura says nothing of it, distracting him with her next words. “If you are hopeful to change your fate, I may be able to help.”

 

“Really?” Lance asks eagerly, not bothering to hide his enthusiasm. “How? When! Can I-”

 

“Calm yourself,” she chuckles, running a hand over an intricately carved statue of a wolf he hadn’t noticed before. It’s accurately sized - coming up to Allura’s hips and looking as if made of ice, but Lance knows that can’t be the case, given the warmth of the room. Allura’s fingers dance over the solid fur of its ornate head - so realistic he’s almost scared it will reach out and bite her - with a reminiscent expression softening her features.

 

“The last person of your kind to seek me out was much the same. He sought vengeance though. Power. He wished to destroy those who had taken what was his.”

 

“And...you _helped_ him?” Lance balks, wondering what morals Allura upholds to aid in such a scheme. She shrugs nonchalantly, tapping the wolf sculpture with pointed nails.

 

“His payment was acceptable. I do _love_ shiny things, and the way light plays with frozen water is captivating, don’t you agree?”

 

 _So it is ice…_ Lance concludes, staring down at the wolf before turning away. The eyes seem to follow him, and a chill runs down his spine.

 

“Seems a tad dark, does it not?” he challenges, but Allura waves him off.

 

“Overcast, Lance of clan McClain. I operate a _business_ here. I used to accept favours for favours, but I kept forgetting the differing lifespans of those who made deals, and came to collect millennia too late.” She laughs again at some inside joke, but when Lance doesn’t join in she tapers off. “I only take payment up front now. Prevents unsatisfied customers from finding me again as well.”

 

“What is it you trade?” Lance questions, moving closer to her side.

 

“Hmm, spells, potions, cursed objects,” she lists on her fingers. “And shinies as well. Most of these trinkets are for sale if you're interested in purchasing a gift. Perhaps for a lover? I make the _loveliest_ wedding rings!”

 

“I...maybe next time,” Lance flushes. He's here for the exact _opposite_ reason, but offending her is not the wisest course of action if what she promises is true. “I only need something to-”

 

“To change your fate,” she interrupts boredly, folding her arms over her chest with a sigh. “I am aware, yes. But fate comes in many forms. What _exactly_ are you wishing to change?”

 

Lance pauses, thinking for a long while before answering.

 

_I could change the rules of the competition so I’m allowed to compete! But...no. That leaves too much opportunity for someone else to win._

 

_Maybe I could make it so that I’m the winner no matter what, or just have her create a spell so that I don’t have to marry anyone at all._

 

_But that may only grant me a temporary reprieve. I need something more permanent. Something to change my fate for good._

 

Which means he has to focus on the root of the problem. The one who organized the festival in the first place. The one who refused to listen to his pleas. The one who won’t change, no matter what he tells her.

 

Lance sighs as he understands, lifting his gaze to where Allura watches him expectantly.

 

“I wish to change my mother.”

 

“Perfect,” she quips, holding out her hand. “And how will you be paying?”

 

“Oh...uh. Is it that easy?” She nods, and he grins. “Then...what do you accept?”

 

“Anything shiny,” Allura answers simply, gesturing around the room. ”Rocks, rubies, gems, jewels, carvings, polished stones, potion bottles, ornate-”

 

“Right,” Lance cuts in, patting his person to see what he has. “Got it.”

 

He didn’t think to bring anything valuable with him when leaving the castle, focusing more on packing blankets, food, and arrows.

 

 _Maybe she’ll take one of my arrowheads?_ he thinks, but knows immediately that such a thing would not suffice. _It has to be shiny….what do I have that’s-_

 

“Wait!” he says out loud, reaching under his cloak to unfasten the pin his mother had used to hold the heavy tartan from the festival in place. He’d left it attached to his shirt out of convenience at the time - finding the metal pieces difficult to remove when in a rush - and thanks whatever beings are listening that he’d not bothered to remove it.

 

He holds it out once it’s free of his clothing, beaming widely as he waits for Allura to nod.

 

But she _doesn’t_ nod, instead grimacing at his family’s brooch and recoiling as it’s shoved her way.

 

Her eyes change to a dark blue, ears twitching as she backs away from it with a hiss.

 

“How _dare-”_ she starts, but Lance withdraws before she has a chance to finish, knowing right away what the problem is. Alteans, if the stories are to be believed, are wary of sharp things, especially those made of iron. Weapons, spears...metal pins for fastening jewelry to clothing. Lance turns, snapping the long, pointed needle off the back of the brooch and tucking it in his pocket.

 

“Apologies,” he says sincerely when he hands out the offering once again, flipping it over to show Allura that it’s now safe. “I honestly forgot, and I carry no ill intentions, but...will this suffice?”

 

She watches him intently for a moment, straightening as her eyes shift back to a calm pink. She leans forward, head tilting to and fro as she examines the detailing on the surface. Her finger reaches out to trace the crest of the McClain clan: a triskelion held within a triangle interlaced with ivy that binds the symbols together. It’s one of the more intricate crests, and Lance had always been proud to wear it. Now though, he feels only bitterness.

 

_It’s supposed to represent unity and strength. Love….family. But where were those when I needed them most?_

 

He shakes his hand, motioning for Allura to take the brooch as her smile grows greedy.

 

“It’s shiny and important, made of the finest silver,” Lance explains to better compel her, and sighs in relief when she grabs it with both hands. It looks like a small plate between her fingers, and though Lance knows the weight it carries, Allura shows no sign of struggle as she balances it in her palms. She holds it up to inspect it in the light of a nearby crystal, mumbling to herself contently.

 

“Oh _very_ nice! I've always enjoyed this rune. The spirals...the flow. Ivy is a fine plant as well. Attracts all manner of beasts! The mice will _love_ this one.”

 

Lance raises a brow but doesn’t ask, instead clearing his throat and nervously tapping his hands against his thighs.

 

Allura notices and composes herself once again, tossing the brooch in the air.

 

“Wai-” Lance cries out as he watches, but it never falls back down. It vanishes from sight, and Allura brushes her hands together as she moves passed him to shut the door.

 

“Accepted!” she announces, snapping her fingers and dimming the lights. Lance blinks at the sudden darkness, rubbing his eyes as they adjust. When they do he sees that the room has changed. The shiny things are gone, replaced by glowing sconces and shelves of ingredients Lance can hardly recognize taking up the walls. Greenery of all sorts hang from the rafters, and a single table holding a large cauldron sits in the middle of the room. Allura strides over to it, motioning for him to follow when he stands in shock at the abrupt shift in his surroundings.

 

“H-how did-”

 

“Oh, did I startle you?” she asks sweetly, bustling around the room gathering an array of bizarre objects. She whistles lowly, and four mice dash into view, scurrying up her dress to rest on her shoulders. “Hello there my darlings. Can you fetch me what I need?”

 

They nod - and yes, Lance is sure he sees their heads bob up and down in understanding - before scampering over to the shelves. Allura taps the side of the cauldron and blueish-green flames lick the sides, heating some stagnant mixture inside.

 

Lance edges toward it, peering over the edge to spy an unpleasant bubbling concoction of unnatural colour within.

 

“Um...I’m not supposed to drink anything, right?” he asks as Allura tosses several leaves within, causing the liquid to spew unhappily. “I’m not really _picky_ or anything, but I feel like I _should_ remind you that I’m human…”

 

Allura laughs, smiling down at one of the mice who returns with what Lance fears to be a dried slug in its mouth.

 

“Do not fret, Lance of clan McClain. I learned this spell from a witch of your own land _ages_ ago. Wonderful woman. Clear mind. Keen interest in magics, though I fear she may have dabbled a bit much for her own good.”

 

“And...what happened to her?” Lance prods, worried the answer has something to do with the spell currently spitting chunks of ash in the air. “Did she die?”

 

“I am presuming so, yes. Your kind does not tend to live long.”

 

“Oh...so it had nothing to do with _this?_ ” he says, gesturing at the cauldron. Allura shakes her head.

 

“Not at all! Or...I would think not. She stopped seeking me out when she left the wilds. Never heard from her again.”

 

Lance considers this for a long moment, watching the mice scurry around the hut bringing Allura what she needs. Each new ingredient changes the consistency of the mixture - the colour, the _smell_ \- until eventually, it begins to resemble the mud stews he would make as a child.

 

“Do you ever get lonely?” he wonders out loud, and Allura blinks over at him in genuine bafflement.

 

“Lonely? No, not really. I live with the mice,” she gently pats one on the head, cooing at it warmly. “And I travel quite a lot. I expect one day I will settle down though, as a few of my friends have done.”

 

“What does settling down entail?”

 

“Usually choosing a form and sticking with it,” she explains, now beginning to stir the giant pot. “Several of my kind have done so in this very land, my father one of them.”

 

“And what did he become?” Lance urges curiously. He steps closer to the cauldron - now beginning to vibrate - to better hear her response. But Allura only smirks up at him, eyes traveling to the top of his head before sinking back down to his face.

 

“Let us just say that he too enjoyed that which shone.”

 

Lance frowns but doesn’t push the matter. The potion is now an angry green, and he stares down at it dreading how it’s power will be invoked.

 

_Mum would never drink something so foul looking. I wouldn’t either, for that matter._

 

_But if it’ll change my fate then I’ll find a way…_

 

“It’s almost ready,” Allura speaks suddenly, withdrawing a needle from her sleeve. The tip is red, and when Lance gapes down at it not daring to ask what substance is responsible for the colour, she grins up at him smugly.

 

“Blood,” she states, nodding down at his hand.

 

“When did you-”

 

“You are very trusting of the people you shake hands with,” she informs him, holding the needle above a lit candle.

 

_She- what! How dare-_

 

“I would ask for it fresh,” she continues as he inspects each finger, “but I find the results of the spell manifest more pleasantly when it’s had some time to dry. Well, _that_ and it has to be taken in secret.”

 

“Why- _ouch!”_ he yelps, hand going to the back of his neck in response to a sharp tug. One of Allura’s mice jumps from his shoulder to hers - a wad of brown hair tucked between its teeth.

 

“Secret…. _and_ surprise,” Allura shrugs, taking his hair and the needle and closing her eyes. “Look away, Lance of clan McClain. I will tell you when it is safe.”

 

She drops the needle and hair into the mixture, and Lance sees it turn a startling brilliant blue before a hand is slapped over his eyes.

 

“Look away!” Allura shouts, and he does, ducking his head into his cloak as a blinding light burns the image of the cauldron to his eyelids. It only lasts a moment, but it takes Lance a good few seconds to blink his vision back when Allura lifts her hand.

 

“What was _that?!”_ he exclaims, rubbing his face now. He has to physically check that his eyebrows are still attached but gets distracted when Allura reaches down into the cauldron. “Woah wait there’s still-”

 

He trails off - her arm sinking to the bottom - but nothing clings to her clothing, and when Lance peeks over the edge of the cauldron he sees that it’s completely empty save for a single tart at the very bottom.

 

Allura reaches for it, humming contently as she pulls it out for him to take.

 

“Interesting!” she proclaims, grabbing his hand and dropping the tart into his open palm when he hesitates. “I do hope your mother likes blueberry.”

 

“I-how…” Lance stammers, flinching as the treat touches his skin, expecting it to be scalding hot. But it’s oddly cool to the touch, smelling exactly like the fruit Allura had mentioned. “Um...woah, yeah. I think she does. But how-”

 

“All you have to do is give this to her,” Allura interrupts, brushing her hands off on her dress. “Make sure she swallows at least _one_ bite and your fate shall be changed, as you requested.”

 

She moves about the room, replacing items on shelves while the mice follow close behind her.

 

“And it will work?” he questions, staring down at the tart. It is of simple make: no bigger than his palm and cooked perfectly from what he can tell. But despite having watched the process of creating it, Lance finds himself skeptical that a _pastry_ will be the thing to remedy all of his problems. “This isn’t some trick, right?”

 

Allura pauses, turning with a calculated slowness that brings a chill to his arms. She raises a brow when she faces him, eyes flashing yellow in the darkness of the hut.

 

“It will perform as needed. I am no novice at spellcraft, Lance of clan McClain.”

 

“O-of course, yes,” he gulps, wrapping the tart in a spare piece of cloth and tucking it into his pocket carefully. “I meant no offense, it’s just...well. I’ve never dealt with magic before.”

 

She softens, the room growing warmer as she approaches and places her hands on his shoulders.

 

“Oh, but you _have!_ Magic is all around us, existing in every little thing.” She pats his cheek gently, smiling up at him as she steers him towards the door. “You just have to look.”

 

The door opens, and Kalte whinnies anxiously as she trots over. She hesitates a few feet from the entrance though, wary of the hut and snorting as she spots them.

 

“You have a fine horse,” Allura comments, pushing Lance outside. “She will make sure you get home safe.”

 

Lance frowns, watching as Kalte bows her head in response to Allura’s words.

 

“Wha-can you _understand_ her?”

 

“Nonsense,” Allura chuckles, but Lance catches her tip her own head back.

 

_This is why they say to never trust strange beings in the woods._

 

“Go now, and change your fate, Lance of clan McClain!” she calls out as Kalte prances over to greet him. The mist is back, thicker and moving quickly across the ground to his feet. Lance steps into it, holding tight to Kalte’s mane with one hand covering the tart in his pocket.

 

It soaks into his clothing - damp and clingy - forcing Lance to stumble away from the hut towards the hill where the wisps had vanished.

 

“Good luck!” he hears Allura bid from behind. “And remember-...time-!” but the rest of her sentence is garbled and fractured, and when Lance turns for clarification her hut is gone - lost in the mist that rises up and swallows the surroundings.

 

He backs away from it, bumping into Kalte and wrapping his arms around her neck as the mist swirls up and around them - humming louder and louder until Lance can hear nothing else. It’s disorientating, and he shuts his eyes against the ghostly manner in which the mist engulfs them, pressing his face into Kalte’s mane as his pulse races wildly.

 

And he counts, waiting for the whispers in the air to cease.

 

_One._

 

_Two._

 

_Three._

 

_Four._

 

_Five._

 

_Six._

 

_Seven._

 

_Eight._

 

_Nine-_

 

Everything immediately stills, and Lance feels his ears pop at the abrupt silence around them. He waits until Kalte nudges him to step away, heaving an uneasy sigh as he realizes they’re back in the stone circle.

 

_The Witch’s Crown. But I'm sure we walked for at least an hour before..._

 

He groans, rubbing his temples as he stares up at the shards piercing the sky - mist fading back to the surrounding woods.

 

“Magic. Not sure if I'm a fan.”

 

However, when he feels the weight of the tart in his pocket he amends his statement.

 

“...yet.”

 

 _This will work,_ he reassures himself in the haze of his thoughts. So much had happened - the wisps, the crystals, the strange woman called Allura with the shifting eyes - it’s all so obscure that he’s not entirely confident it had been real.

 

 _But it has to be. My brooch is gone and I have this weird pastry spell so I_ must _have met her. I'm not_ that _good at deluding myself._

 

So with a final glance at his surroundings, Lance mounts up, patting Kalte onward. Only, he's not sure which way will take him back. He hadn't been paying attention when they'd wound up in the fabled stones to begin with, and feels his palms grow clammy around the reins.

 

“Great,” he mumbles, hoping for some flash of familiarity, even a wisp to guide him home. But there’s nothing save for a breeze that moves through the forest - tangling with the branches of nearby trees and sounding vaguely like words he can't understand.

 

But when it passes through the circle Kalte huffs and turns, walking out of it with purpose towards a path he'd not noticed was there.

 

“Kalte, are you sure this is the-” but he cuts off as the breeze plays with the edge of his cloak before running off, and there's no denying the unique ring of laughter it carries.

 

_Allura…!_

 

Lance shakes his head, remembering the cryptic message attached to the compliment she had given his horse.

 

 _So they_ can _understand each other!_

 

Kalte's ears flick as she walks - the knowledge of the way back granted by the fae woman - and with a final look at the Witch's Crown Lance hastens her into a run.

 

He's eager to be away from the stones: from the wisps and the mist and the hut in the woods.

 

But more than anything he's eager to change his fate.

 

He places his hand over his pocket protectively - ensuring the tart is still there and safe - and rushes home with a new plan taking shape.

 

* * *

 

It’s late when the castle finally comes into view, but Lance can hear the revelries from inside easily enough. Nearly every window is lit from what he can tell, and Lance harrumphs as Kalte slows upon entering the gate.

 

 _This will be harder than I thought,_ he thinks as he jumps down from her back, guiding her over to her stall and tossing her a large pile of hay as a reward for carrying him so far. He removes the reins, promising to brush her down properly in the morning.

 

Right now he has to hurry, but he can’t get trapped in the festivities. He needs to find his mother - preferably away from everyone else - and give her the spell. He’s not sure how it will work, but Lance figures finding out one-on-one is better than in front of all the clan leaders and their sons.

 

_Allura said it will change her, which will change my fate. I have to trust that it will work._

 

He moves over to the wall that will take him up to the hallway near his room, but pauses as voices can be heard overhead.

 

“-sure no one saw us leave?” someone asks in a hushed tone, voice male but currently unrecognizable as it drifts out the open window. Lance freezes, pressing against the stones in case they happen to look down.

 

“I’m sure,” someone else answers. Lance frowns, something vaguely familiar about the second voice. He tries to put a name to it as it goes on. “Your father was busy challenging my aunt to some sort of dual and everyone else was too busy arguing with each other to notice. Besides, with the Queen having retired for the night we can’t really get in trouble.”

 

 _So she’s in bed..._ Lance thinks, mind whirling. _That might work in my favour._

 

There’s a brief laugh, the first voice speaking again shortly after.

 

“Seems almost a waste. I had planned the _perfect_ distraction. Foolproof!”

 

“Oh? Can I hear it?”

 

“You could…” the first drawls teasingly, and Lance can just barely make out his next words. “But I’d rather use this time wisely for... _other_ activities.”

 

“Such as?” the second man hums lowly, and Lance grunts at the indiscernible whispering that follows.

 

 _Who is up there?!_ he deliberates frantically, both deathly curious and peeved. This was his way back into the castle, but if those two don’t leave soon he runs the risk of being caught by one of the patrols.

 

 _How am I-_ but he breaks off as a door swings open across the way - one of the kitchen staff exiting the castle with a basket of rags to be washed. _Oh...perfect!_

 

He waits until they’re around the corner before scurrying across the yard to the adjacent tower, listening at the door to ensure the kitchen is empty before stepping inside. It graciously is, and Lance sighs audibly as he sags against the door, making sure to lock it just in case.

 

_Okay, this is good. The kitchens have a passage up to the bedchambers I can take. Only the staff uses them, so I shouldn’t run into anybody who will question why I’m there._

 

He moves into the room - the muffled voices of hundreds of guests sinking through the floor regardless of the kitchens being several flights down. There’s music as well - the jaunty rhythm of drinking tunes echoing through the stones - which Lance takes as a good sign.

 

_The lords may be upset with me, but so long as there’s ale they’ll be fine. And if mum retired for the evening then things must be handled for now._

 

He hurries about the room, gathering a small, decorative plate on which to place the tart. He pulls it from his pocket, finding it in pristine condition despite the journey in the confined space, and sets it down gently.

 

“Right,” he titters, foot bouncing nervously on the ground as his eyes dart between the cupboards. “I should make it look a bit more presentable.”

 

He’s in the middle of reaching for a few mint leaves off a nearby plant when he hears the door leading to the rest of the castle swing open across the room. His muscles seize, eyes widening as he whips his head around to see who had entered.

 

It’s not one of the staff, as Lance had been prepared to deal with, but rather someone with dark eyes and shaggy hair, sharp features, and a heavy cloak draped over his shoulders. But the tartan is not the blue of Lance’s clan. It’s also not yellow, green, or black.

 

It’s red, and Lance stares in alarm as Keith of clan Kogane spots him.

 

 _Oh, Morrigan take me!_ Lance curses, wondering what the heir of the wolf pacifists could possibly be doing down here, away from the party. He scowls over at the boy, expecting a similar expression given the attitude he’d displayed at the introduction ceremony.

 

But Keith shocks him with a smile - a dazzling, _dimpled_ one - which has Lance blinking his way back to vocality.

 

“What are you doing here?” he demands, throwing his shoulders back to look more intimidating when his voice cracks. He clears his throat, tossing the mint leaves to the ground behind his back. The less suspicion he draws the better. “What do you want?”

 

Keith shrugs, not at all thrown off by the tone of Lance’s voice, and waltzes purposefully into the room.

 

“I was hungry. Thought I’d get a snack.”

 

Lance narrows his eyes, fighting the uncalled for interest he has in Keith’s voice. He’s only heard it on two occasions: one at full volume and one as distant conversation. But now, when speaking directly without anger or fatigue colouring his tone, Lance discerns a slight rasp to Keith’s manner of speech: a pitch in his throat that almost smothers his words. It’s unique. Distinctive. Capable of shouting orders - commanding forces and rallying troops - but not lacking humour.

 

His voice, like the smile he still wears, is unexpected, and Lance almost falters before reminding himself of the situation.

 

_Right. I need to get him to leave._

 

“So you figured wandering around our home at this hour would be the best method?” he quips, arms folding over his chest as Keith approaches the middle of the room. Lance nervously eyes the tart sitting on the table between them and steps forward as well.

 

_I don’t know if the spell has a time limit or not! I need to act fast!_

 

“Not the smartest move, especially for someone of _your_ clan-” but he cuts off abruptly, realizing it may not be the best idea to antagonize a former enemy - treaty or not. Keith only rolls his eyes - _how bold -_ hands behind his back as comes to a stop across from him.

 

“I like exploring,” he states simply, almost _jestfully_ , watching Lance with keen eyes. “And this castle has a lot of secret nooks and crannies. Plus your nanny told me it was okay so-”

 

“My _who?”_ Lance scoffs, and Keith raises a hand to show an approximate height of the person he speaks of next.

 

“Loud fellow, about this tall, orange facial hair that looks _entirely_ too well-kempt to be real-”

 

“Coran is _not_ my nanny!” Lance interrupts with a hiss, flushing as he pictures the dizzy old man giving strangers directions to their most hidden of places. Keith has the audacity to grin wider.

 

“Well _I’m_ glad I ran into him,” he admits shamelessly. “He pointed me this way, and here _you_ are. Just the person I’ve been wanting to see.”

 

Lance raises a brow at that, letting his arms fall to the tabletop between them.

 

“And why is that?”

 

_He’s probably here to question my motives - find out the reason I did what I did and poke fun at how it failed and-_

 

“I wished to compliment you,” Keith answers smoothly, ducking his head as his ears turn an unconventional shade of pink.

 

Yet another unexpected.

 

“Oh-” Lance coughs, also glancing away as heat rises in his cheeks. “Um... _why_ exactly?”

 

“I thought what you did was brave,” Keith confesses bashfully, toying with a splinter on the table. “Really brave. Defying the Queen is one thing. Defying your mother…” he laughs - a light, charming sound that sends a similar chill down Lance’s arms as Allura’s had. “You have my respect.”

 

 _What is going on here?!_ Lance struggles internally, lifting his gaze to meet Keith’s for a solid two seconds before darting back to the ground. He can’t bring himself to hold it for any longer. _What is he up to?_

 

“Yeah, well,” he says after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck to occupy his hands. “Try telling _her_ that.”

 

“I _did_ , actually,” Keith discloses without hesitation, and when Lance’s face snaps back up to his - expression a contorted mix of horror, awe, and disbelief - Keith bites his lower lip and chuckles, turning away with a shrug. “She didn’t seem too impressed.”

 

“You... _what_ did you _say?!”_

 

“Just that I thought it was fair. The added competition, the increased stakes...I told her your claim was valid and you had a right to fight for yourself.”

 

Lance openly gapes, breathing through his mouth as his lower right eyelid begins to twitch.

 

_He....wow. Wow! I-_

 

“I’m surprised to see you still alive then,” he divulges, failing to suppress the smile that tugs at his lips. “She usually detests voiced opinions.”

 

_Especially coming from me._

 

Keith shrugs again, tilting his head as he grumbles in remembrance.

 

“Your mother was lenient in her reprimand. Mine...not so much.” But he laughs, easing Lance’s concerns without waiting for them to be voiced. “Don’t worry. I’ve survived worse scoldings.”

 

“Worse than questioning the Queen?” Lance prods, forgetting he has a job that needs doing. He’s caught up in this surprisingly _comfortable_ conversation - trapped in the lull of Keith’s intoxicating voice. “What could you have possibly done more problematic than that?”

 

Keith is silent for a pause - as if debating whether or not to reveal the information - before lifting a finger to tap the side of his face. Lance’s eyes follow the movement, tracing along the length of the scar he’d almost forgotten was there.

 

“She was furious when I came home with this,” he explains in short, forcing Lance to practically beg for elaboration.

 

_This guy...honestly._

 

But he’s curious. And curiosity is a foe he has yet to best.

 

“How did it happen?” he leans forward, eager to hear the reason. And then he remembers where Keith is from - what dangers he must face in the wilds on the daily. “Were you fighting wolves?”  

 

He waits for Keith to nod and agree, maybe flash that same dimpled smile from before, but following the theme of their conversation thus far Keith chooses the unexpected.

 

The humour fades from his face as he pushes off the table, replaced by a defensive guard that hides his kind features. He looks like a stranger again - the same man who threw the sword at Lord MacDonal to prove his point.

 

“Protecting them, actually.”

 

The atmosphere in the room grows tense, and Lance is taken aback by the hasty shift in Keith’s personality - like a great shadow had overtaken the warmth of his sun. Lance almost shivers at the new frigid tone, but recovers quickly enough. His arms return to fold over his chest, closing himself off as he reprimands his lapse in judgment.  

 

_Right. I should have known. Typical Koganes and their abstract philosophies._

 

“Why bother protecting such a creature?” he grumbles - more to himself than anything - but his voice carries in the quiet of the room.

 

“They’re misunderstood,” Keith answers without pause, though the previous honey in his voice has turned to iron. “They don’t deserve to be treated the way your clan does-”

 

“Then why are you here?” Lance interrupts, patience wearing thin now that the friendliness between them has fled. “The annual hunt can only be won by _killing_ a wolf. How were you expecting to do that, exactly?”

 

Thick brows lower over darkening eyes, and Keith looks him up and down judgmentally.

 

“I could ask the same of you.”

 

“Wha-” Lance stumbles, briefly losing grip of his growing anger at the statement. But he huffs as Keith smirks victoriously at his silence, catching it again with ease. “I have no issue killing a wolf.”

 

“Don't lie to me,” Keith fires back testily, and Lance is thrown into a sickening spiral of recognition, having already heard those words spoken by another that night.

 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply to clear his head.

 

“It's _not_ a lie. It's a fact.”

 

“Why are you pretending-”

 

“I’m not!” Lance snaps, tossing his hands in the air in annoyance. His word has _never_ been questioned to this extent before, especially by someone outside his family. “I would _easily_ kill a wolf if it meant my freedom-”

 

 _“Then why didn't you!”_ Keith strains in exasperation, and before Lance can react he reaches for his belt and withdraws a knife, slamming it point-first into the table between them. Lance stares down at it, mouth agape with unspoken curses, but none take shape as he immediately recognizes the weapon.

 

It has the same oddly shaped hilt. The same unfamiliar rune. The same foreign hue of the metal.

 

 _It's the knife from the meadow!_ He realizes with a jerk. _The one that scared off-_

 

Lance lifts his head to gape at Keith, the connection made and processed.

 

_It was him! He threw it! But-but why was he there?! Why didn't he come out? Why-_

 

_Why..!_

 

“You were _spying on me?!”_ Lance exclaims - voice pitching up on the last word. “For-when...why?! And you threw _this_ - _”_ he motions down at the knife in aversion “-... _thing!_ You could have _killed me!”_

 

“I have impeccable aim,” Keith mumbles, but Lance doesn't hear him.

 

“And what were you _thinking -_ throwing it in the first place! I wasn't in danger! I didn't need saving-”

 

“It wasn't you I was protecting,” Keith explains calmly, which has Lance dissolving into a fuming jumble of stupefaction. Keith watches him spiral for a minute or so before finally explaining himself.

 

“Look, I didn't enter this competition for your hand,” he trails off, flushing lightly. “Not...specifically, anyway.”

 

Lance pauses, ice flooding his veins at the confession, but Keith isn't finished.

 

“The wolves of this land grow more scarce every year, and I thought if I won I could help you see-”

 

“Why is it always about wolves?!” Lance groans to himself, raising his voice to properly cut Keith off. “So you want the crown for your own personal vendetta. Great. Superb. Why not declare war and just get it over with-”

 

“No!” Keith huffs, desperately running his hands through his hair. He calms enough to reach out to Lance, who backs away in disgust. “No...it-I didn't…”

 

“Don’t _lie_ to me,” Lance mocks, starring Keith down with the piercing eyes he'd inherited from his mother, and the boy deflates.

 

“Alright. Fine. _Yes_ , at first I only agreed to come so I could change how things are. But Lance-”

 

“Do _not_ address me so casually,” Lance interrupts, and Keith's shoulders sag. He doesn't correct himself though.

 

“I thought if I won I would be able to change your mind...help you understand that _killing_ these animals is _wrong!_ So I followed you when the hunt began. I wanted to confront you alone and reveal my true goal. But…” and he pauses, hands falling back to the table as he leans across it. His voice lowers, eyes darting across Lance's face.

 

 _What colour is that I wonder…_ Lance hears a voice call from the back of his mind, which he suffocates immediately.

 

“But what?” he demands, and Keith has the audacity to smile.

 

“But then I saw you with those wolves, Lance. I saw you _hesitate_. I saw you show _mercy!_ You wouldn't kill them. And I realized I didn't need to convince you of anything! _You already know!”_

 

Lance swallows dryly, wanting to argue but lacking the words. He backs down from Keith's stare - flees from it - wrapping his arms around himself as he turns away.

 

 _He's right,_ one part of him reasons. _You let them live, knowing that it might be the end. And she...she didn't attack like you thought she would._

 

 _But she might have,_ another voice adds. _She could have easily taken me out if I hadn't been right by her pups._

 

_You don't know that._

 

_But it's the truth!_

 

_Says who?_

 

 _Says everyone!_ Lance stumbles, head pounding as the internal conflict takes its toll. He hears Keith gasp behind him, and turns just in time to stop the boy from jumping the table to help.

 

“Stay back!” he winces, pain throbbing in his temples. “Stay...stay back.”

 

Keith hesitates but eventually does as asked.

 

“You won’t kill a wolf,” he goes on after a long moment. “You're the same as me.”

 

“I'm nothing like you,” Lance breathes dizzily, amber eyes flashing in his memories. “I made a mistake is all. I let my heart get in the way of my head and-”

 

“And you saw the _truth!”_ Keith presses, moving around the table in defiance of Lance's previous orders to place himself before him. “You know what these people - what _your_ people - are doing is _wrong_ , Lance! These are innocent _lives_ being hunted for sport-”

 

“Stop,” Lance chokes, and Keith listens despite the word coming out as a whisper. He backs away, giving Lance his space, and then reaches for something at his belt.

 

Lance half-expects to see another knife, but what Keith withdraws is smaller and differently shaped, bundled in the red tartan of his clan.

 

He unwraps it with tender fingers, and the blood drains from Lance’s face as he sees what's inside.

 

It's a wolf: intricately carved from dark wood and looking all too similar to the one he'd encountered in the meadow. The proportions are all the same: ears pointed forward and eyes knowing, with identical markings on the nose where he'd seen her scars.

 

It's beautiful, but all Lance feels is dread.

 

“I made this after I saw you in the meadow,” Keith confesses softly. And then he kneels, offering the carving up, forcing Lance's pulse into his throat.

 

“I present to you my wolf, Lance McClain, prince of the Highlands and heir to these lands.”

 

 _No...no no no-!_ Lance thinks in growing hysteria. _What is he saying?!_

 

“I offer it as the first suitor to bring one back, for your hand, so that we may be united-”

 

_What is happening?! Why!? Why!!_

 

“-in a journey to defend those without voices. To be of one mind to protect the innocent of crimes wrongly accused.”

 

Lance's knees are shaking, his body cold and hot and unstable as he stares unblinkingly at the wooden carving born of Keith's hands.

 

He's screaming now, though no sound leaves his lips.

 

“Do you accept?”

 

Keith smiles kindly up at him, waiting, _expecting,_ but Lance can't breathe. He can't see. He can't think. The world is buzzing and he's trapped in its darkness. Lost in its depths. Captive in this cage of obligation with bars forged by the desires of the people who give the crown power.

 

And Lance finally concludes that he is no prince. He is a slave - born to serve forever with no right to the life he wants.

 

He reaches a state of heightened distress, heart pounding against his ribs demanding to be freed. He stares down at Keith - seeing him now, for what he truly is.

 

For what they all are.

 

_They're all the same. They only want my crown. They only care about power. He doesn't know me. He doesn't want me. He admitted himself that his only goal was to use the crown's influence for his own needs!_

 

 _This isn't what I want! Why can't you_ see _that!_

 

Keith holds the wolf up higher, oblivious to the panic consuming his prince from the inside out.

 

“Lance, will you mar-”

 

He doesn't get to finish the question. Lance’s body reacts before his mind can - arm thrashing out and knocking into Keith's hand. The wolf carving is sent flying across the room, where it smashes against the far wall and lands in two distinct pieces on the floor.

 

A heavy silence follows - Keith unmoving and Lance fighting to regain control of his emotions. And in that silence comes awareness.

 

Aggressive, overbearing awareness.

 

It collapses down on Lance in powerful waves, forcing him to grasp the extent of what he'd done. A proposal denied. An alliance potentially broken.

 

A wolf, cracked in half where the heart should be.

 

And yet...he won't apologize. Why should he? Keith's words are hollow. Empty. They mean nothing. They carry no weight.

 

So he wants to marry him. So what. Everyone competing wants the same thing, just for slightly different reasons.

 

_Well, almost everyone..._

 

But Lance isn't in the mood for rational thought, and he shoves the mental image of Hunk aside to let himself stew in rage, glaring down at Keith with a clenched jaw.

 

This isn't why he chose to fight for himself. The whole point of his rebellion was to _avoid_ marriage, not _encourage_ it! And who cares if Keith is kind. Who cares if he listens and thinks Lance brave for what he did. Who cares if Lance thought - even if just for a moment - that someone was genuinely interested in knowing _him_ for _who_ he is, and not what.

 

But in the end, there had been a catch. The reason behind Keith's easy smile was not interest, but rather greed. His laughter was not born of genuine humour, but forced as a method to weaken Lance’s armour. And oh...how pitiful that it had almost worked.

 

But Keith of clan Kogane is only concerned about one thing, and Lance forces himself to admit their differences out loud.

 

Because he's had enough.

 

_I don't care about treaties._

 

_I don't care about festivals._

 

_I don't care about marriage._

 

_And-_

 

“I don't _care_ about _wolves_.”

 

His words are absorbed into the stone walls, but the weight they carried lingers in the room. Keith stares up at him in shock, eyes flashing once with hurt before being locked away where Lance can't find it.

 

“I see,” his voice is hard, gruff. It masks emotions, but Lance can’t bring himself to decipher which ones. “I was hoping we could have formed a _proper_ alliance…understood one another better than exchanged vows to seize the fighting.”

 

His gaze lifts to meet Lance’s, trapping him, holding him. And regardless of their colour, Lance knows Keith has the eyes of a wolf - dark and fierce and knowing - and he retreats from them, like the coward he is.

 

“I thought you were different,” Keith’s voice is a harsh whisper, ragged and broken. “I thought we - _you_ \- could make a difference.”

 

Lance doesn't look. He can't. He won't show empathy this time. He won't take back his actions or his words. He waits until Keith sighs, accepting his defeat, before lifting his eyes.

 

 _I can't do anything,_ a small voice quivers in the back of his mind, but he can't admit that either. Keith doesn't need to know how powerless he is when it comes to making decisions. _I wouldn't be able to help. I'm useless...and-I'm sorry…_

 

But he bites his tongue, keeping those words to himself.

 

“You thought wrong,” he insists instead, and Keith flinches as if he'd been struck. He backs away, feeling the edge of the table as he stumbles around it, bowing his head when he's on the other side.

 

“I apologize,” he whispers unsteadily, “for my mistake.”

 

He waits a moment longer for Lance to change his mind - to call him back and accept his offer - but Lance holds his tongue. He won't bend now. Not for this.

 

Keith nods in fragile acceptance after a long pause, making to leave. But before he goes he grabs the tart Lance had forgotten all about from off the plate sitting between them.

 

“Hey _-wait!”_ Lance shrieks in panic - finding his full voice - but it’s too late. Keith has already taken a bite, and Lance is forced to watch in horror as his _one_ chance at saving himself is consumed.

 

Eaten.

 

Spoiled.

 

_Ruined._

 

 _“Iverson's arse!”_ Keith swears abruptly as he swallows, coming to a halt and tossing the pastry back down to the plate in revulsion. “Did _you_ make that?!”

 

Lance doesn't answer, too mortified for words as Keith wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

 

“Leave the cooking to those with talent, Highness,” he goes on in a spiteful tone, periodically coughing as his face reddens. “Unless you plan on _poisoning_ the wolves next.”

 

And with that he exits, the door slamming shut with startling finality, leaving Lance alone in a cold kitchen with a ruined spell and a shattered wooden wolf.

 

_No! How-...I don’t-_

 

“Am I _cursed?!”_ he yells indignantly, sinking to his knees and crawling towards the table. He peeks over the edge, hoping - _praying -_ that he'd imagined it. That his eyes were faulty and Keith _hadn't_ just done what he thinks he had. “Please, please, _please-”_

 

But no matter his begging the tart remains crumbled and partially missing - the aftermath of what appears to be a glow fading from the pastry.

 

Lance gapes at it and feels tears sting his eyes, but none fall. He holds them back, somehow, as he surpasses every stage of denial to reach a frightening level of calm.

 

The world around him stills - an odd silence filling the castle he doesn't care enough to comprehend. There's familiar laughter in the faerie song that’s whispered over the hills, where the wisps dance between stones of ancient magics and the fates begin to change - but all Lance can hear is the pounding of his heart in his ears, and his calm withers away to loathing.

 

He tears his gaze from the tart and locks it on the door - burning a hole through the wood where the heir of the Northern Spurs fled.

 

_It's over. This was my only chance! And he-...he!!_

 

Lance rises, fists clenched as his shoulders heave.

 

 _I may not be allowed to compete,_ he resolves resentfully as he moves around the table. _But that won't stop me from killing a wolf._

 

He storms forward, determined to put an end to Keith of clan Kogane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boys.
> 
> Hope you liked the brief Klance. More to come.
> 
> Also, can you guess which troublemakers were whispering at the window after sneaking away from the festivities?


	5. A Dire Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fates are changing, and Lance finds out the hard way how Allura's spell works. He should have asked what to expect, knowing he would never have agreed to trade had she told him the truth. 
> 
> But it's too late. The tart is eaten and Keith is missing and Lance is grateful that everyone is too preoccupied with ale to notice who's following him through the castle.

The hallway is empty when Lance charges into it and he curses himself for not acting quicker. He runs to the end, glancing down the split paths to his right and left, wondering where Keith could have fled.

 

_The guest chambers are on the far side of the castle, which would mean he would have taken a right. But the entry hall where the festivities are taking place is to the left._

 

_Where would he have gone-!_

 

Lance groans, choosing the right on a whim. It leads away from everyone else, and Keith seems the type of person to seek solitude after the words they'd exchanged. Lance himself isn’t too keen on meeting other people just now either, so he rushes through the stone corridor away from the noises of celebration and drunken singing hoping Keith had done the same.

 

 _When I catch him I’m gonna feed him to those wolves he loves so much,_ he thinks with hostility, finding comfort in such malicious planning. _Or tie him up outside as an offering to the fae._

 

_Morrigan can take him for all I care. Stupid childish boy with his stupid shallow proposal and his stupid stomach-_

 

 _Why did he have to do that! Why did he have to do_ any _of it! We were getting along just fine-_

 

But he breaks off as his jaw begins to ache, fighting the more emotional side of his anger as he rushes onward. Keith of clan Kogane doesn’t deserve his tears. Keith of clan Kogane wasted his precious time and devastated his plans. Keith of clan Kogane is-

 

_Right there!_

 

“Hey!” Lance shouts as he catches the edge of Keith’s cloak disappear around the corner. He bolts forward, frustration boiling over as he imagines all the ways in which to make Keith of clan Kogane pay for what he’d done. “I’m going to- _ooft!”_

 

Lance yelps as he’s knocked backward - having run into a wall or something equally as unmovable. He winces as pain shoots up his tailbone, eyes clenched tight as his mother's old warning about not running in the castle surfaces mockingly.

 

“Oh! _Highness!”_ someone squeaks anxiously, and Lance opens his eyes to see a large hand offering to help him up. He shifts his gaze upward, where it lands on the startled face of Hunk Garrett. “I’m _so sorry!_ Are you okay?! I didn’t know you were there and-”

 

“It’s fine,” Lance cuts in, standing by himself. “It’s nothing-” but he hisses as he stares down at his palm - scraped and bleeding from having attempted to soften his landing.

 

“Doesn’t look fine to me,” someone else speaks, and Lance frowns as a younger boy steps out from behind Hunk. He’s short, with fair skin and strawberry blond hair cropped at the chin, and he reaches out to grab Lance’s hand without bothering to ask permission. “But it’s not the worst. Treatable. I have some salve I can-”

 

“Who are you again?” Lance questions, staring down at the boy in confusion. He knows this face - recognizes it from the diplomatic meetings he would attend with his father as a child. But that person had longer hair and wore dresses, not trousers and loose shirts. “Have we met before?”

 

The boy smiles nervously over at Hunk before dropping Lance’s hand and bowing.

 

“I am Pidge of clan Gunderson,” he introduces, rising again with a smirk. “And yes, we have met before.”

 

“At the introduction ceremony,” Lance supplies, recalling Matthew Gunderson as one of the presented suitors. Samuel had made a point of welcoming both boys forward, but even as he says it Lance knows there must have been another time they'd exchanged pleasantries.

 

_Why can't I remember-_

 

Pidge shakes his head, raising a brow.

 

“We’ve met before that.”

 

 _When?_ Lance scrambles to think, but he has no recollection of ever being introduced to a Pidge Gunderson. He remembers Matt, and he knows of Katie. But Pidge?

 

“I apologize, but I only know of your brother and sister. I-” he trails off as Pidge chuckles, Hunk joining in shyly. Lance stares from one to the other, folding his arms over his chest with a pout. “What’s so funny!”

 

“You don’t recognize me?” Pidge asks with a snort, twirling on the spot with a grin. “I _do_ have an older brother, yes, but I don’t have a sister.”

 

“Of course you do,” Lance argues. “I’ve met lady Katelyn several times when we were younger. She-”

 

But Pidge is laughing again, which has Lance huffing in growing annoyance.

 

“Am I mistaken?”

 

“No,” Pidge admits after a moment, collecting himself with a lingering smile. “Not really. I’m actually quite flattered that you don’t recognize me, Highness.”

 

Lance’s brows tip upward in confusion, and Pidge goes on.

 

“Katie is someone I used to be. But _Pidge-_ ” and he points to himself with both hands, “-is who I am. It just took a little while to figure that out.”

 

Hunk pats Pidge’s shoulder - smile kind and reassuring - whilst Lance bites the inside of his cheek and processes the new information.

 

_Pidge is Katie? Or Katie is Pidge….but they’re the same person! Or...are they?_

 

He clears his throat, momentarily distracted in his quest for revenge.

 

“So you were a girl and now you’re a boy?” he asks, bouncing his finger from side to side to represent time.

 

“I was always a boy,” Pidge corrects, shrugging. “I was just born in a different body.”

 

Lance nods, confused but slowly understanding.

 

 _He changed himself,_ he realizes with a twinge of envy. _He chose his own fate. He took matters into his own hands._

 

 _And his family accepted it!_ he thinks, remembering how both Matthew and Samuel had referred to Pidge as _Pidge_  and defended him against Lord MacDonal. _They listened to him! Supported his decision!_

 

_I wonder what that must be like…_

 

But he’s not about to tarnish his first official meeting with Pidge of clan Gunderson with his own issues, so Lance bows his head, smiling pleasantly for the first time that night.

 

“Well, then I am pleased to meet your acquaintance, Pidge.” Again the boy chuckles, nodding as his cheeks redden. “But, if you’ll excuse me-”

 

“Of course! Apologies, Highness!” Hunk exclaims, standing aside to let him pass. “We did not mean to take up your time-”

 

“Nonsense,” Lance waves him off. “It’s fine, I was just-”

 

“Your hand is still bleeding,” Pidge observes, grabbing it again to examine closer. “Really, Highness, I don’t mind tending it-”

 

“It’s just a scratch-”

 

“Oh, Morrigan take me,” Hunk moans, squeezing his fingers together tightly. “I’ve harmed the prince! What if he gets an infection! What if he gets _sick!_ What if his _arm has to be amputated-”_

 

“It’s nothing like that!” Lance rushes to soothe, taking back his hand. He spits on his palm, rubbing it on the inside of his cloak and then holding it up for them to witness. “See? It’s all better! Nothing to worry about.”

 

Hunk and Pidge both stare at him in dismay - expressions those of two people who had just observed the most scandalous of behaviour. Lance flushes awkwardly, hiding his hand behind his back as he realizes who he is supposed to be to them.

 

A royal.

 

A leader.

 

A well-mannered individual who does not use saliva as a healing poultice.

 

“Um...right,” Hunk drawls after a long moment, but Pidge is less convinced.

 

“Honestly Highness. I have several herbs I can mix up to ward off infection and speed healing. My mother is one of the finest healers in the land, and she’s taught myself and my brother quite a lot.”

 

“It’s true,” Hunk adds. “She cured my sister of a terrible illness three years back. Highly recommend.”

 

“So she’s a witch?” Lance questions, eyeing Pidge for his reaction. But the boy only shrugs, as if he’s heard such tireless allegations before.

 

“She’s a _doctor._ She trained in the lands across the seas when Matt was voyaging and uses her knowledge to help others. She’s not some _hermit_ woman living in the wilds-”

 

“I meant no offense,” Lance hurries to apologize, realizing he’d touched a sensitive topic. “There are several women in the villages around the Highlands who are also versed in the wisdom of plants for healing. There’s even one in the castle here! I used to help her gather herbs and such as a child-”

 

“There is?!” Pidge interrupts, brows shooting to the top of his forehead. “Can you tell me where to find her? Mother asked Matt and I to bring back fresh Highlanders Bane and we’ve had no luck finding any yet.”

 

“Um...sure, yeah-” Lance begins, but cuts off as the rest of Pidge’s sentence sinks in. “Wait. When were you looking? Highlanders Bane only grows in the deep forests, and you’ve only been here a day so…” he trails off as Pidge ducks his head, remembering the book filled with maps he had seen Pidge showing Matt before the hunt had begun.

 

_Is that what they were doing?! Hunting mushrooms instead of wolves?!_

 

_Is no one here to fight for my hand!?_

 

Lance feels his temper flair but cools it with a reminder that it’s a _good_ thing the suitors are not invested in the competition. If no one brings back a wolf then no one wins, right?

 

Still, he can’t help but feel a _tad_ insulted that no one is showing any personal interest in him. He _is_ the prince, after all. And it’s not like he’s some hideous troll. He’s tall, strong, and possesses a solid combination of his parent's features. He has his father’s jawline, his mother’s eyes, and barely a blemish save for a large birthmark on his back. But he can’t help that. He was born with it. And it’s not like anyone has seen it aside from his family and a select few staff.

 

He shakes his head though, reminding himself not to be offended.

 

 _It’s not like I want them to like me. Well...I_ do _, but not in this way. It’s better if they have their own goals to pursue, and it’s preferable when those goals don’t include me,_ he adds bitterly, Keith’s face surfacing. Lance pushes it down with a groan, audible and misinterpreted by the two standing before him.

 

“Please don’t be upset, Highness,” Pidge laments as he watches Lance’s thoughts flash across his face. “It’s just- Matt has never been interested in marriage or settling down and finding love. He lives for adventure and knowledge, as do I, and when we were invited here he told our father that he couldn’t compete for a hand he did not wish to hold, but father-”

 

“Insisted?” Lance finishes, sharing a knowing look with Hunk. Pidge sighs and nods.

 

“Yes. Matt had no choice.”

 

“Seems to be a common theme for this year's hunt,” Lance mumbles dryly to himself, and Hunk smiles.

 

“Perhaps, but there are still two others who are likely plenty eager to win for you, Highness.”

 

Lance grimaces but nods, not wanting to disclose how that news does not please him. Instead, he clears his throat and forces himself to smile, tipping his head at the two.

 

“I thank you for your honesty,” he admits, hoping his voice sounds genuine as he turns to Pidge. “The woman who can help with your search is named Olkari, and she lives in the house made of glass by the gardens on the east end. Tell her I sent you.”

 

Pidge grins, nodding eagerly.

 

“Thank you, Highness!”

 

“Right, then...I shall be off.”

 

He moves passed them to follow where Keith had gone, mentally visualizing the castle layout to guess where he could have gone.

 

_Though he’s probably far off by now. I really shouldn’t have indulged these two with conversation._

 

But the regret doesn’t last as Hunk and Pidge both wave amicably, and Lance’s smile is real when he bows once more.

 

“And please, call me Lance.”

 

They both grin and nod, waiting for him to leave first before resuming on their way. Lance listens as their voices carry down the hall, and when they fade he takes off running again. He slows at each corner, glancing around it to avoid any further interruptions, and soon finds himself in the hall leading to his own chambers.

 

He curses under his breath, knowing Keith wouldn’t be fool enough to wander this way. But as he’s about to turn back he hears whispers further down, and presses against the wall as he creeps forward.

 

 _That might be him!_ he thinks, shocking himself when his stomach leaps. _He’s going to be so sorry he came to this festival!_

 

At the corner he holds his breath and peeks around it, waiting to jump out at him in a surprise attack. But it’s not Keith whispering, and Lance jerks his head back and bites his tongue to keep his shock contained.

 

_What the-?!_

 

He blinks a few times, rubbing his eyes for good measure before peeking once more. It’s the same image though, and Lance’s mouth drops open as he watches Adam MacDonal wrap his arms around the man who escorted Keith into the entrance hall - tall, muscled, _handsome_ Shiro. The two are pressed together by the same window Lance uses to escape from, and he puts their names to the voices he had heard there earlier.

 

_So it was them!_

 

They aren’t speaking now, or-at least...not with words. Lance stares unblinking as the two kiss shamelessly in the moonlight pouring into the hall, looking like ghosts.

 

 _Passionate_ ghosts.

 

Shiro’s hand - the one not hanging limply at his other side - can’t keep still, wandering from Adam’s arm to his hip to the small of his back, pressing him closer between the stones and his own body. Adam grins against Shiro’s lips, mouth opening to accept him further as one leg coils around the other man's waist, grinding forward in response to the attentions. Lance watches - face heating and heart pounding - as their fingers entwine and they hold each other tightly. And when someone moans, low and guttural and _wanting_ , Lance backs away, averting his eyes and chastising himself for spying on such a private moment.

 

He doesn’t blink though: the mental image of the two now burned in his mind as he heads back the way he came.

 

And once again he finds himself unsure how to feel. Disappointed? Upset? Relieved? Accepting?

 

In the end he chooses jealous, wanting nothing more than to be held like that - _kissed_ like that - by someone who truly loves him. Someone who will fight for his hand out of desire, not obligation. Someone who will tell him they wish to marry him for _him_ , and nothing else.

 

But it’s hopeless. With the spell ruined the hunt will go on. And with Adam _clearly_ fancying someone else, Lance is left with the knowledge that the only person willing to compete for his hand is currently hiding somewhere in the castle, likely plotting revenge of his own for being refused. It’s probably a _good_ thing that they fought as they had, lest Keith be the one to actually _win._

 

Additionally, he's the only suitor with any interest in the crown - the others having no intention of actually trying.

 

Hunk loves another. Matthew prefers plants. Adam is taken.

 

If Keith hadn't of told him his plan, Lance would probably have found himself forced to drape his family tartan around the shoulders of someone more concerned about wolves.

 

_I should almost be grateful he sought me out. I mean, I'll still use him for target practice, but at least I'm aware of his goals now and not at the wedding._

 

Regardless, Lance still taps nervously against his thigh as he takes the staff passageway back down - avoiding the entrance hall as he grapples with what to do next.

 

_I need to tell mother that no one wants to marry me. But she won’t listen if it’s me telling her. If I could convince the others to admit their hearts desires then-_

 

_Then…_

 

“Then nothing,” he confesses out loud, exiting the staircase into the hall by the libraries. “The hunt will continue until a wolf is killed. We’ll be waiting until winter before she changes her mind.”

 

He sighs, rubbing his temples as he leans against the wall across from one of the many tapestries hung in the lower parts of the castle to prevent cold drafts. This one was woven years ago, showing his father - the mighty Angus McClain - standing with his sword in the heart of a massive wolf. It’s supposed to represent his strength: how he’d earned the crown and the loyalty of the people of this land by driving out the beasts, and there had been a time when Lance had gazed upon it with pride. He would stare up at his father and wish to be just like him. Fearless. Brave. Fighting the monsters and saving the innocent.

 

Now though, Lance’s attention lingers on the wolf - pitiful and horrible, with sharp teeth and red eyes. He stares at it, wondering what it had done to find itself at the end of his father’s sword. Wondering if it had done _anything_ at all, or if it had just been unlucky in its avoidance of man.

 

And then he thinks - for the first time in his life - that he may not want to be just like his father if this is what it means.

 

He recalls amber eyes. He remembers blue ones too. And he wonders if the person who had made the tapestry had ever seen a wolf, or if they had relied on the stories of others to guide their hand.

 

“I’m sorry,” Lance murmurs as his fingers reach out to touch the threaded fur. But before he can he hears a thud from somewhere down the hall, and he jerks his hand back to see if anyone approaches.

 

There’s another thud, followed by a low groan, and Lance’s feet push him towards it.

 

_Is someone hurt? Or is it one of the guests wandering about in a drunken stupor?_

 

He rounds the corner, seeing a crumpled form by a knocked over bench, and when they groan again Lance moves closer to bend at their side.

 

“Hey, are you-” but he breaks off as the person sits up, holding their head and moaning loudly with their eyes shut tight. Lance blanches. “ _Keith?!”_

 

_Morrigan take me! What happened to him?!_

 

His cloak is missing, which is why Lance didn’t recognize him at first, but there’s no denying it’s him when he peeks up at Lance through his arms, cursing shamelessly and backing away.

 

“What do you want,” he grumbles, voice unsteady and pained. “Here to break something else of mine?”

 

Lance swallows thickly, ignoring the small _yes_ he hears in his head. He's not about to kick someone who’s already down.

 

“What’s wrong with you?” he demands instead, but Keith just rolls his eyes and pushes the hair from his flushed face.

 

“Why do you care? Just leave me alone.” He attempts standing, only to lose balance and fall forward. Lance catches him by reflex, saving him a cracked skull as he nearly collides with the floor.

 

“Are you drunk?!”

 

Keith pushes away, but his fingers remain clutching the fabric of Lance’s shirt, head lolling to one side as he hiccups and coughs.

 

“No.”

 

“It looks like you are,” Lance argues, helping the boy to his feet and struggling with his weight.

 

_Why is he so heavy?!_

 

“I’m just- let go,” Keith pushes at Lance’s arms again, fingers unrelenting in their grip. Lance frowns down at them.

 

“ _You_ let go! I’m just trying to help you-”

 

“Why?” Keith murmurs, and he tips forward into Lance’s chest. Lance freezes, body going stiff as Keith’s hair tickles his chin, head moving back and forth against his shoulder as the boy nestles closer.

 

_What is going on?!_

 

“I’m fine. I don’t want your help,” Keith mumbles in spite of his actions, and Lance can feel his breath against his neck. His cheeks burn, and he snaps back into action as Keith begins humming against his skin, smelling strongly of blueberries.

 

 _Oh no,_ Lance remembers, attempting to guide Keith back to the library as it begins to click into place. The light is better there, and he needs to check for injuries.

 

Well...he doesn’t _need_ to, really, but Lance has a sneaking suspicion Keith is telling him the truth. He’s not drunk. And he’s not fine. There's something else at work here.

 

_The spell…_

 

Keith whines as if in confirmation, fingers digging into Lance’s arms and swaying unsteadily on his feet. Lance stumbles as he takes on more of Keith’s weight, attempting to walk them forward, but it’s useless with Keith clinging to him like he is. He can’t get anywhere like this, but he can’t exactly leave him alone. What if something bad happens? What if he ends up hurting himself in this state?

 

Lance’s empathy is in full throttle, and he groans in annoyance as he begrudgingly comes to a decision.

 

 _Ah, the fae are laughing!_ he curses, and then exhales once as he bends to pick Keith up.

 

“Hey, put me down!” Keith orders when lifted, but his tone is weak and easily ignored. Lance bites his tongue as he edges forward, wincing at the sharp nails that cut through his skin.

 

“Stop scratching me!” he retorts, adjusting Keith’s weight in his arms. “I’m taking you to my moth-” he breaks off, wondering if that’s the best course of action.

 

_She’ll ask what happened, and Keith might tell her about our conversation. About the proposal. I can’t risk her finding out!_

 

“Um...I’m taking you to see Pidge. He knows about herbs and such, and may be able to help.”

 

Keith only whimpers in response, arms going limp and falling to his side.

 

“What was in that tart?” he hisses softly, brows furrowed as he stares up at Lance accusingly.

 

“Yeah well,” Lance fires back, keeping his eyes forward. “It wasn’t for you. Serves you right for taking it without asking.”

 

“I was hungry…” Keith whispers pitifully, beginning to shiver now. “I didn’t think you’d actually poisoned it.”

 

“I-” but Lance cuts off in growing concern.

 

_I knew I shouldn’t have trusted Allura! Brighid be blessed I didn’t give it to mum!_

 

But that does little to calm him. Keith being hurt in her place is hardly a relief, regardless of what Lance had been wishing earlier. He forgets his revenge and tries not to think about the sweat breaking out on Keith’s brow - _a fever?! -_ as he finally reaches the library.

 

“Here,” he grunts and sets Keith down. There’s no way he’ll be able to maneuver the stairs with him like this. And with the way Keith’s face has turned a sickly pale colour - clammy with blue staining his lips - Lance doubts he has much time to work with. “I’m going to bring someone here to help, okay?”

 

Keith doesn’t answer - head tilting back to rest against the wall as his teeth chatter uncontrollably.

 

“Are-are you cold?” Lance sputters, confused when Keith nods due to the heat coming off his skin. “You’re burning up…”

 

 _What have I done! I didn’t want to actually_ kill _him! Oh, Brighid help me!_

 

He stands, foot tapping anxiously against the floor as he thinks of what to do. His eyes drift up to the wall, where the tapestry he’d been staring at only moments before still hangs.

 

_...It’s better than nothing._

 

He grabs it, tugging with both hands until it breaks free of the metal fastenings. Lance catches it before it can fall down onto Keith's head, and then bends to drape it gently over his shaking body.

 

“This will keep you warm until I get back, alright?” he explains, tucking it up around the boy’s neck. “Just stay here.”

 

He makes to stands, but Keith’s hand latches onto his sleeve, pulling him back down with startling force as the boy grimaces in pain.

 

“What-” Lance starts, but trails off as Keith’s mouth moves. No sound comes out though, and Lance leans forward. “Sorry? What was that?”

 

Keith inhales shakily, abruptly opening his eyes to stare up at him, allowing Lance to see then properly for once. And _oh! What an interesting colour_.

 

They’re violet, like the gems in his mother’s crown, or the flowers that grow by the river. They flicker in the candlelight - rich wine and blackberry juice - unfocused but lovely. Lance has never seen such colours before.

 

 _Not in a human, at least,_ he thinks, recalling how Allura’s had shimmied and shifted with her emotions. _I wonder if Keith has fae blood in his veins to have eyes of raw amethyst..._

 

“Don’t go…”

 

Lance blinks, gaping down at Keith as the words retrieve him from his speculations.

 

“W-what-?”

 

The boy sighs, hand falling back to the floor weakly as his eyes slide shut and the fight drains out of him. He looks small. Frightened.

 

“Don’t leave me...”

 

Lance curses, frantic now as he glances down the hall. There’s no one there though - everyone either already in bed or two floors up still celebrating. His options are limited, and with Keith quickly fading in and out of consciousness Lance needs to act _now._

 

“I have to,” he whispers, and then rises, turning to the door that will hopefully take him to someone he can send for help. But just as he reaches for the handle he hears Keith groan, followed by several loud, echoey cracks - like ice breaking in the mountains - as a deep humming fills the air. A shiver runs down Lance’s spine when the light dims and the hallway darkens, and he glances back over his shoulder to see Keith has collapsed on his side, covered by the tapestry with the dead wolf.

 

Lance tries not to think that ironic in any way, but as he hurries back to Keith’s side he’s halted as the tapestry begins to lift - rising up and _growling_ as whatever is underneath grows to an impossible size.

 

_What is happening-?! What is that!!_

 

Because it’s no longer Keith - of _that_ Lance is sure. Instead, a massive beast sits up as the humming comes to an abrupt end - candles flickering back to life in the overwhelming silence of the hall. Lance's pulse is a drum, beating so loudly he can feel the stones beneath him moving in rhythm to his heart. He counts each second that follows.

 

One.

 

Two.

 

Three.

 

The tapestry rises and falls as whatever lies beneath it takes a breath.

 

Four.

 

Five.

 

Six.

 

It begins to move, tossing and turning in disorientation.

 

Seven.

 

The drum beats louder, _faster_.

 

Eight.

 

The castle shakes with the sound, so much so that Lance almost expects the floor to cave in.

 

Nine.

 

Four thick, powerful legs covered in coarse, greyish-white fur stretch an equally thick body unsteadily towards the ceiling. The tapestry slips off its back to the floor - as well as the torn remnants of clothing - revealing lighter, almost golden tan colouring interlaced with black markings along the side of its coat and a tail nearly the length of Lance himself. The beast stands to its full height, nearly skimming the roof above.

 

A high-pitched mewl slips from Lance’s throat as the thing turns - head wide and jowls frothing - and his legs give out as he stares into the unmistakable face of a direwolf.

 

He can’t think. He can’t move. The drum is so loud the noise is constant: drowning out everything else in favour of the baritone scream. All Lance can do is sit and gape up as the creature approaches: ears forward and nose moving back and forth to smell the air. Its body is practically the size of Kalte - bigger than any wolf Lance has ever heard described - with paws that could _easily_ surpass the width of his hand. It watches him intently, passively, mouth opening to reveal a deadly array of jagged teeth glistening with drool that falls in heavy droplets to the floor.

 

And Lance finds his voice.

 

“ _Wolf!”_ he screams, scrambling back on the floor as the direwolf’s ears flatten against its head, body lowering as it glances nervously around the hall. Lance flinches as it attempts moving towards him, only to stumble and trip and _whimper_ as it stands again. Lance’s entire being is trembling, back pressed against the wall as the beast recovers and hovers over him.

 

“P-please-” he stammers unintelligibly, arms moving protectively over his face. He can't die like this. Not in his own home. Not at the hands of the creature his father had sworn to protect him from - one that he doesn’t even _believe_ in. He can't die. Not yet. “Don’t kill me…”

 

The direwolf pauses, head tilting to one side, and then one of its enormous legs lifts to rest on the wall beside him and Lance cowers as sharp claws the length of daggers dig into the stone. But rather than rip him to shreds the beast jumps back, gaping down at its own paw as if seeing it for the first time. It makes a choked sound, turning in several wide, clumsy circles as it notices its tail. It knocks over several more tapestries and furnishings as it attempts catching the appendage before giving up and coming to a dizzy stop in front of Lance. It blinks down at him, trapping him with its eyes.

 

_Look away look away look away!_

 

But it doesn’t, and surprisingly, neither can Lance. He's mesmerized, gaze drifting over the unique colouring of the beast. Its muzzle is white, brow a greyish-black with ears transitioning to that same golden hue that decorates its underbelly and frames its eyes with soft triangular markings. And it's here that Lance finds himself calming, drawn to the familiar irises that reflect his own face.

 

Because he _recognizes_ those eyes! He’s seen them before - dark and intelligent with the otherworldly hue of ripe plums in late summer.

 

They’re fierce eyes, but also tender. Stoic but soft.

 

They're the eyes of the warrior who had declared he would compete after hurling a sword at a doubter.

 

They're the eyes of the charmer who’d found him in the kitchen, calling him brave and admirable and then ruining it all by proposing on the spot.

 

They’re the eyes of the stranger who’d asked him not to go, clutching his arm and begging not to be left alone mere moments before.

 

Lance feels his mouth go dry, and the trembling in his hands stops as he realizes this isn’t some randomly spawned direwolf staring at him expectantly, but rather-

 

“... _Keith?_ ”

 

The wolf lifts its hefty head, tail wagging as its mouth opens again and a low grumble of what Lance takes to be agreement comes out.

 

But then it - Keith... _he_ \- shrinks away, ears tilting back as he must hear the sound he'd made bounce off the walls. Wide eyes land back on Lance, pleading and confused and scared, waiting for some explanation.

 

 _Oh, Morrigan take me…_ Lance curses, because it all makes sense now. The tart, the fever, the... _colossal dog_ in place of the suitor from clan Kogane. A string of unfiltered swears poisons the air as Lance hoists himself upright against the wall - Keith’s new brows lowering over uncanny human eyes as he watches his prince fume without restraint.

 

“I’m such a fool! I _knew_ I shouldn’t have trusted that conniving little-!” he breaks off as wolf-Keith huffs audibly, sinking lower to the ground with his hackles raised and staring down at his paws with noticeable concern.

 

 _He’s a direwolf!_ Lance observes unhelpfully. _How is_ that _supposed to change my fate! Those things aren't even supposed to exist anymore!_

 

He tosses his hands in the air, groaning as he begins to restlessly pace.

 

“Great. I _knew_ that spell seemed faulty! Never trust the fae. Isn't that what everyone tells their children? Why didn’t I _listen-_ ” he’s cut short as Keith growls - a rumbling sound that vibrates in Lance’s chest - and when he glances over he sees those same dark eyes now glaring holes into his chest, picking up on what Lance lets slip.

 

_Ugh. It’s definitely him, no doubt about it._

 

“This doesn’t concern you,” Lance mumbles, but Keith suddenly _yips_ \- a squeaky, almost _cute_ sound of dismay - and Lance raises a brow at the unexpected noise. “Sorry. I don't speak wolf.”

 

Keith stares at him deadpan - ears flipping to the side in annoyance - and Lance groans audibly as he turns away, knowing what is being nonverbally insinuated.

 

“What! I was trying to change my fate!” he explains in short. Keith’s ears tilt up, nose twitching as he waits for more. Lance obliges after a moment of unrelenting eye contact.

 

“This may come as a surprise to you but I don’t _want_ to marry. I thought I’d made that abundantly _clear_ when I said I was _fighting for my own hand,_ but apparently not,” he shoots Keith a look, who stares back indignantly.

 

_Independent stubborn annoying-_

 

“I tried running away, found some wisps, followed them to an Altean- don’t interrupt-” he warns as Keith’s jaw unclenches. He shuts it and sags in frustration after the order, allowing Lance to continue.

 

_Well, at least he can understand me. And he's listening for now._

 

“We traded,” Lance continues, “something shiny for something magic. The spell was _supposed_ to change my _mother_ and stop this whole _marriage_ thing. But then _you_ came along and ruined it! And now I’m stuck with a wolf! The _one_ thing I wanted less than a proposal.”

 

Keith’s ears flatten to the back of his head, and he cowers and averts his gaze with a short, mournful whimper. Lance falters, watching the reaction.

 

_Wow...he’s much more expressive now than he was as a human..._

 

Which only makes Lance feel worse, to be honest, and after a moment of deliberation he exhales - staring up at the ceiling before shutting his eyes.

 

“Look,” he begins, foot tapping anxiously against the floor. Keith watches the movement keenly, and when Lance notices he forces himself to stop. “I’m…. _sorry_ , I guess, that you turned into a terrible monster-”

 

Keith barks - loud and piercing in the small space of the hall - and Lance amends his statement with his hands over his ears.

 

“ _Ow!_ Wolf then! _Fine_. You turned into a wolf. Does that make you feel better?!”

 

Keith sits up, coming to eye level, and moves his head up and down in a very un-wolflike nod.

 

“ _Super_ ,” Lance drawls sarcastically, resuming his earlier pacing. “Clearly Allura was messing with me, probably because I was fool enough to insult-” he hesitates, side-eyeing Keith and holding his tongue.

 

_Best not have him angry at me when he looks capable of swallowing me whole. He doesn't need to know the entire story._

 

“Anyway. All we need to do is find her and get her to fix this. Fix _you._ That’s all. And when she does I’ll get a _proper_ spell to change my fate.”

 

He moves over to where the tapestry had fallen, picking it up and tossing it behind a nearby bench. He then bends to collect the tattered remains of Keith's clothing, hiding them in the same place.

 

“It looks like someone was eaten down here,” he comments as he hastily cleans, finally retrieving a torn weapons belt from the ground. It holds the same knife Lance had seen Keith use twice now, and after a brief pause, he slips it from the ruined leather and attaches it to his own belt.

 

Keith's eyes linger on him, unwavering and intense, and Lance shrugs.

 

“I'll hold onto it for you. That way it won't get stolen or lost, okay?”

 

A slow nod, and Lance runs his fingers through his hair in relief.

 

_I thought for a moment he might be upset._

 

“Now what,” he mutters to himself, foot tapping again as he attempts formulating a plan. Getting out of the castle is easy when it's just him, but with a wolf?

 

_And a massive one no less. How to do this…_

 

A lengthy whine leaves Keith’s throat, and Lance grunts at the interruption.

 

“I still don't speak wolf!”

 

He’s given an irritated huff in reply, and then Keith abruptly stands and pushes his nose into Lance’s side, shoving him forward with a grunt.

 

“Um, _excuse-!_ What do you think you’re doing?!”

 

Instead of answer Keith pushes him again, towards the door Lance had been about to leave from before the transformation. Once in front of it Keith sits, gesturing to the wood with his massive head when Lance remains motionless.

 

_What is he trying to say?!_

 

“Uh…”

 

Keith waits a moment longer and then grumbles and leans forward, poking the door with his nose before staring back at Lance expectantly.

 

“You want to go up the stairs…? Why- _hey!_ ” Lance yelps as Keith rolls his eyes and moves passed him, pushing him up against the wall in the process. His fur is bristly and uncomfortable where it presses against Lance's skin, and he sputters as he swallows a mouthful of it while attempting to curse.

 

“Hey- _Keith!”_ he manages to squawk before a heavy tail smacks into his face. “Rude!”

 

But Keith doesn't stop, walking purposefully down the hall away from the library before turning the corner.

 

“Where are you going?!” Lance hollers after him, bouncing in place as he stares at the door leading up to the passage that will take him to the others. But is that _really_ what he wants right now? Keith is a literal _wolf_ wandering a castle brimming with the people who nearly put an end to the species. It's the most dangerous place for him to be!

 

_And no one will believe that it's really him, especially coming from me. No one ever listens to what I have to say._

 

Lance utters several undignified blasphemies, glancing once over his shoulder before running after the direwolf Keith had become.

 

“Slow down!” he chastises when he catches up, watching Keith bump into a set of displayed armour. Lance rushes forward to prevent it from falling, heaving it upward with a grunt. “Be _careful!_ You’re going to alert everyone in the castle that you’re-...well…not yourself. Plus you have no idea which way leads out.”

 

Keith whines knowingly, dropping his head to the ground and proceeding to sniff around.

 

“Oh please,” Lance sneers, folding his arms over his chest. “Just because you have the nose of a wolf doesn’t mean you know how it _works._ You look ridiculous.”

 

Keith stares back at him, lids dropping comically over his eyes in a very uncharacteristic expression of vexation for such a wolfish face. Lance almost laughs.

 

“Follow me, okay? We’re going to have to sneak out through the lower pantry since you’re too big to fit up any of the staff stairways. And there’s _no way_ we’re risking the main halls. Stay quiet and- _what are you doing?!”_ Lance seethes, watching numbly as Keith sits and begins scratching his ear with his back leg - copious amounts of wolf hair attaching to every nearby surface. Lance jumps back to avoid getting covered as Keith groans and _grins_ : lips curling upward in the same way Lance had seen the castle hounds do when he’d find the perfect spot to itch.

 

“ _Keith!_ Stop! You’re not some _animal-”_

 

Keith halts, foot freezing mid-air as he gapes down at it, and Lance wonders if he’d meant to scratch himself at all, or if it had been some weird canine instinct he’d been forced to act upon. Whatever the case, Lance shimmies passed him with a grunt, shooting him a flabbergasted look and shaking his head as he continues on down the hallway.

 

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, gesturing for Keith to follow when he remains staring at his foot. “Come on, you overgrown mongrel. The sooner we turn you back the better.”

 

Keith grumbles in agreement, following after a brief glance at the hair that had come off him - now littering the fancy rugs in clumps of white and grey and gold.

 

 _I’ll have to clean that up when I get back,_ Lance admonishes internally, hoping no one comes down to investigate before then. _But first I have to change him back._

 

He leads Keith down several passages, careful to check around each corner to ensure it’s empty before motioning the direwolf onward. Several times he spots a guard or one of the staff exiting a room or passing the hall they’re about to enter, but miraculously no one spots them, and when the pantry comes into view Lance almost grins in relief.

 

He holds a hand up for Keith to wait, peeking into the space where three other halls meet. The doors are right ahead of them, and with a quick glance down each side, Lance steps forward, turning back to the wolf waiting his instruction.

 

“Okay, it’s all clear-”

 

“Highness?”

 

Lance gasps as his stomach drops, holding his arms out to halt Keith as Coran appears in the hall to his left, holding an empty goblet and sporting rosy red cheeks. He beams when he sees Lance, waving zealously and nearly tripping over his own two feet as he stumbles forward.

 

_He’s been at the ale!_

 

“Highness!” Coran calls out again, and with a nervous look back at Keith Lance hurries to meet the man halfway, preventing him from coming any closer to where a fabled direwolf awaits.

 

“Hi-hey, uh...yes. Greetings,” Lance stammers, accepting the sloppy hug Coran tries to give him. “How-what...are you doing-”

 

“Celebrating!” Coran cheers, raising his goblet in the air. “Celebrating _you_ and your _marriage!”_

 

Lance grimaces, grabbing Coran by the arms and slowly turning him around so his back is to where Keith’s snout pokes around the corner. Lance shakes his head subtly, hoping Keith will know to stay put.

 

Coran hums at the motion of being spun, swaying dangerously back and forth.

 

“I do love weddings,” he slurs happily. “Cakes and pies and pastries and music and _magic!”_

 

“Magic?” Lance repeats, and Coran nods enthusiastically.

 

“Oh yes! Magic! All the best weddings have magic.”

 

“They do?”

 

“I used to be magic,” Coran mutters, ignoring Lance’s question. “I miss magic.”

 

_What is he talking about?!_

 

“What magic, Coran-”

 

“Weddings!” the man whoops, voice echoing off the walls. Lance tries to silence him with a hand over his mouth, but Coran pulls away. “I _love_ weddings. And ale.” He tries drinking from his cup, frowning when he finds it empty. “I need more ale.”

 

“Is that why you’re down here?” Lance asks anxiously, wincing at the volume Coran’s voice still carries.

 

_He’s going to notify the whole castle that we're here!_

 

“No, no. No ale this way,” Coran shakes his head, staring over Lance’s shoulders. Lance glances back as well, fearful that someone is there, but the hall behind them is empty.

 

“Then why?” he questions when he turns back, and the man’s eyes drift over his face.

 

“I thought I saw something.”

 

_Oh, Brighid help me!_

 

“What-”

 

“A wisp.”

 

Lance swallows hard, grabbing Coran’s shoulders.

 

_Maybe it can take me directly to Allura!_

 

“You're sure it was a wisp? Where! Tell me-”

 

“I apologize for what I said,” the man interrupts suddenly, tearing up and completely avoiding Lance's demands. “Or...for what I _didn’t_ say.”

 

Lance blinks in surprise, allowing the change in subject out of curiosity.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“When you asked me if you would be happy,” Coran explains, patting him on the arm, “about marrying someone you didn’t know or love...I couldn’t think of what to say, and you left so _sadly!”_

 

Lance catches Keith glancing around the corner again, and motions with his hand for him to cross into the pantry. But Keith remains put, ears forward as he listens to what Coran says.

 

“I know you are frightened, and I know you think you aren’t ready,” the man continues, forcing Lance to stare back down at him. “I understand those feelings. Not _personally,_ seeing as I never wed - my kind does not practice the tradition-”

 

_What…?_

 

“-but your concerns are valid Highness. You have every right to be upset and scared and-”

 

“I’m not scared!” Lance denies, face flushing. “It’s just...I can't-” but he trails off, focusing on the ground as he bites his lower lip. Coran smiles knowingly.

 

“Your mother was the same,” he states after a moment, and Lance raises a brow.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Adamantly opposed to marriage,” he chuckles, shrugging. “There was no grand event for her hand, as there is for yours, but she _was_ promised to your father when she was around your age.”

 

Lance gapes down at the man, blinking rapidly as he struggles to process this new information. He knew about them being an arranged union, but to hear his mother had been against it?

 

_How come she never told me..._

 

“I didn’t know that,” he mumbles to himself, and Coran hums.

 

“Oh yes. She was livid when she found out. Ran away and was missing for two moons. Her parents were so worried, sending out nearly every able-bodied person to search. This was back when wolves were still common, you know,” Coran adds, and Lance sees Keith's nose twitch in his periphery.

 

“And what happened?” he prods, skeptical of the story Coran tells. It sounds nothing like his mother - someone so prim and proper and rule-abiding. There's no _way_ she would have done something so rash to avoid obligation. “Did she come to her senses?”

 

“In a way,” Coran chortles, fiddling with his mustache as he reminisces. “The family of her betrothed sent men to help look, and after several days one found her living in an old abandoned house in the woods. Her hair was littered with twigs and her clothing was covered in dirt and torn to bits. She tried to fight him, brandishing a spear she had fashioned out of a branch.”

 

Coran smiles fondly in remembrance, as if he'd been there to see it.

 

“She told him she was a free woman, not some piece of meat to be sold off for land and that if he tried to take her back she would howl and summon the wolves to attack him.”

 

Lance frowns, shaking his head in denial.

 

“She would never-”

 

“But she did,” Coran stresses. “And the man agreed to leave her in peace and let her live as she pleased, admiring her courage and strength. He bowed and turned away, heading back to his horse, and promptly collapsed on the ground.”

 

“What?! Why-”

 

Coran laughs - boisterous and loud - ignoring Lance's shushing.

 

“There had been a storm the night before when he was out looking, not returning to her home as the others had. He was stricken with fever, and she was forced to make a choice: leave him to die so she could be free or take him back and surrender herself. I think you can guess which path she took.”

 

_I don't believe it…_

 

His doubt must be mistaken for confusion, as Coran clarifies with gusto.

 

“She went back! Saved his life and accepted her fate.”

 

“And gave up her dream,” Lance mutters darkly, but it's Coran's turn to frown.

 

“You wouldn't be here if she hadn't.”

 

 _What-?_ Lance inhales sharply, realizing what Coran means even before he explains himself.

 

“The man she saved was your _father_ \- her betrothed. He had searched for her tirelessly, and when he found her and heard she wished to live on her own he accepted it. He would have respected her decision had he not collapsed, and when he woke again he made sure to tell her she could leave is she wanted. He gave her a choice, and she made a decision. She's never regretted it.”

 

Lance is quiet for a long moment as he sorts through Coran's story, unsure what to make of the information.

 

_She saved father's life? Why did he never say? Why did they keep that from me?_

 

_And how come she acts like she doesn't understand when she knows better than most what I'm feeling about this marriage!_

 

_Is she scared to give me that same choice? In case I pick a different path?_

 

_How is that fair!?_

 

Finally, Lance sighs, letting his hands drop to his sides to focus back on Coran.

 

“I don't see how this is relevant,” he confesses. “Mum was just lucky. She met someone she _could_ love. She was given an option to run. Her fate was not set in stone, as mine is.”

 

“You speak of fate as if you know her,” Coran retorts with a grunt. “But we are not runes carved into rock. Our stories are not written before we are born. We have choices, whether we see them or not, and fate has a strange way of molding them. Your mother came to realize that.” Coran steps forward, patting Lance's cheek fondly. “I hope you will as well.”

 

Lance can think of nothing to say, so he holds his tongue and nods shallowly. Coran beams and staggers back with another longing glance at his goblet.

 

“You'll find happiness, dear boy,” he says after accepting his cup as empty. “And love as well. It may not come to you in the way you expect, but most things rarely do. Life is full of surprises, and you'll always have a choice. It just may not be clear at first.”

 

And with that he sighs contentedly, turning to continue down the hall towards Keith. Lance reacts just in time, grabbing his arm and spinning him the other way.

 

“Oh my!” Coran coos as he stumbles. “Are we dancing?”

 

“No, I just, uh...I think the wisp went that way,” Lance points away from the hiding spot of the wolf, and Coran's face brightens.

 

“Good! Good. Perhaps it will indulge me with the latest gossip”

 

“Um...right.”

 

“Try to get some sleep, Highness,” Coran instructs with a drowsy nod as he staggers away. “You've had an eventful day.”

 

 _You have no idea,_ Lance grumbles, smiling politely as Coran leaves. He waits until the man disappears around the corner before groaning audibly and turning back to Keith.

 

The boy - _wolf -_ wags his tail as Lance approaches, which Lance ignores in favour of opening the pantry doors across from them.

 

“Let's go,” he urges when Keith remains watching, beckoning him forward with his hand just in case he hadn't been heard.

 

_What's he waiting for?_

 

But before Lance can repeat himself Keith shuffles closer, raising his head so they're eye level and staring into his face for a seemingly endless few seconds.

 

“What,” Lance demands irritably - mood foul after Coran's story - gesturing into the pantry. “Go, before someone _else_ shows up.”

 

Keith sighs in response, ears back as he slinks into the dark room, doing his best to avoid the numerous barrels and baskets and bushels of food scattered everywhere. It doesn't go well, and he waits for Lance to move in front to clear a path wide enough to accommodate his size.

 

“Okay,” Lance pauses as they finally reach a set of wide wooden stairs leading up. “These go to the kitchen, and from there we can escape into the yards towards the stable.”

 

Keith lifts his head and growls softly, likely signifying he has some issue with Lance's plan.

 

_Typical._

 

“What now?” he asks in annoyance. “We really have to hurry, and I need to grab Kalte's reins-”

 

Again Keith growls, stomping his foot once on the floor.

 

_Why does he keep interrupting me?! Does he have something against my horse-_

 

_Oh...wait._

 

“You're a wolf,” he states bluntly, understanding donning on him as Keith nods with a huff. “Kalte won't like that too much.”

 

Another nod, and Lance runs his hands through his hair with a drawn-out breath.

 

 _Great. Fine. We'll just_ walk _then. Perfect._

 

He avoids Keith’s eyes and heads up the stairs, hoping no one thinks much of the loud creaking that results as the direwolf follows.

 

The kitchen is blessedly empty, and Lance glares over at the tart still sitting on the table.

 

_Stupid useless spell._

 

He grabs it and tosses it into the hearth, watching the smoke turn a light blue as it burns through the magic. When it's nothing but ashes Lance tears his gaze away, making for the door that will take them out into the night.

 

He tosses it open, closing his eyes as cool air sweeps into the room, clearing his head and bringing a shiver to his skin.

 

 _Here we go again,_ he thinks in exhaustion. _But I can't rest yet. I need to fix this._

 

He glances back at Keith, who's investigating something by the far wall with his tail between his legs. Lance frowns but doesn't ask, thinking it best to limit how much conversing he does with the wolf lest he grows used to the company.

 

But his patience is limited, and after a few seconds Lance whistles, earning Keith's attention and tilting his head in the direction of the door.

 

“Come on. I haven't got all night.”

 

Keith nods and moves passed him, eyes forward and glassy with his head hanging low. It's easy to tell he's upset about something, but again, Lance keeps his questions to himself.

 

_We're not friends. I'm already going out of my way to help him._

 

_I'm not obligated to care about anything else._

 

They creep into the yard - Lance stealing a bow and quiver of arrows from the training grounds as they reach the back gate. No one sees them, and though Lance is grateful he begins to wonder how reliable the patrols truly are to miss a horse-sized direwolf hiding in the shadows by the walls.

 

_Maybe I'm just good at sneaking out. Or maybe everyone is too tipsy to care._

 

Either way, it works in his favour, and once free of the castle Lance storms ahead, pulling the hood of his cloak up as he glares at the looming trees beyond the fields.

 

 _Back into the woods I go,_ he thinks bitterly, preparing the scolding he'll give Allura when he finds her again.

 

_If we find her, that is._

 

Lance shoves that pessimism aside though, diving into the shadows of the branches without pause. Keith, however, hesitates at the border, whining until Lance glances back in frustration.

 

“It's this way!” _Probably._ “Hurry up and-”

 

But he breaks off as Keith stiffens in reaction to a breeze passing through the trunks, ruffling his fur and tail in waves of golden grey. Pointed ears twitch as if listening to unspoken words, and without warning, Keith tosses his head back, eyes closed and ears flat as his nose points up at the sky.

 

 _“Wait-!”_ Lance warns - knowing what's about to happen and what trouble it will surely bring - but he's a heartbeat too late.

 

Keith howls, and the night erupts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> click [here](https://blog.nationalgeographic.org/2014/04/05/sperm-banking-revives-endangered-mexican-wolf/) to see the reference photo I used for Keith's colouring. I know it's a Mexican wolf. I know it's eyes are yellow. Bear with me here. 
> 
> But isn't he such a pretty boy?


	6. Turquoise Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance feels as if he may never leave the woods, but desperate times call for similar measures. 
> 
> Keith’s howl brings nothing good, and the depths of the forest are their only means of escape. However, being chased through the trees becomes the least of their worries, and Lance soon learns how much bad luck howling truly brings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this one. Work started and ten hour days in the field really drain a person (0.0')

The howl is piercing - a sword hurled up into the sky to tear its silence apart - and for a brief few seconds all Lance can do is listen.

 

Jarring as it is, the sound Keith makes is ethereal and lonesome, like a story written by the sole survivor of a battle: a ballad to be sung to remember lives lost. It’s moving, but in a way where the body cannot. He’s frozen as the cry joins the stars, echoing across the valley to wake it from its slumber.

 

And for the first time Lance can remember he isn't stricken with fear upon hearing a howl. He has no urge to run and hide or reassure himself he's safe.

 

The song is almost familiar, and it brings numbing ease that heightens his senses to a sharp clarity he hadn’t thought possible.

 

The stars are crisper - less fuzzy and more prominent against the night sky. The air feels colder, as if the moon is draining away the heat the sun had worked so hard to give. He can smell the musk of fur coupled with the soil beneath them - taste the sap collected on leaves throughout the day.

 

And he _hears!_ Everything and nothing all at once. He's more aware of the silence of the crickets, the halt of the wind. No trees creak and groan. No mice scurry in the underbrush. He hears none of it, but they're noises Lance would never have noticed missing had they not all stopped at once.

 

The symphony of the night collectively pauses so the cry of the direwolf can be heard by all - and _Brighid be blessed..._ what a performance it is.

 

But as the desolate beauty of the howl fades, Lance comes back to his senses, rushing forward to grab Keith’s snout and force it shut.

 

_“What are you doing?!”_

 

Keith blinks himself back to reality, eyes crossing to see where Lance’s fingers hold his nose before lifting to Lance’s face.

 

He whines, but Lance only shakes his head in frustration.

 

“Why did you _howl?!_ Are you _trying_ to alert the entire universe that you’re a wolf?!”

 

A huff this time, though it’s muffled. Keith’s ears flick in annoyance, and Lance finally steps back.

 

“I can’t _believe_ you, honestly,” he mutters as he shakes his hands in an attempt to forget the softness he had felt.

 

_Why does his nose feel like velvet…?_

 

Keith’s tongue lolls out of the side of his mouth, tail thumping happily against the ground in ignorance of what he'd done. Lance glares at it.

 

“Oh, you think this is _funny?!_ What are we supposed to do if something answers?! You may be the biggest beast around but you’re not the only one!”

 

Keith’s head tilts to the side, mouth closing as his ears dart forward. Lance flushes, reading the behaviour as concern.

 

“I’m not scared if that’s what you’re implying,” he grumbles, fingers touching the knife at his hip - _Keith’s knife._ His hand falls back to his side, hidden beneath his cloak. “I can protect myself perfectly fine. It’s _you_ I’m worried abo-” but he breaks off suddenly as he realizes what he’d said, backtracking desperately when purple eyes widen in shock. “I didn’t mean- it’s only because this is sort of my….maybe three percent my fault? Five? Okay fine. _Ten_ percent. But _you’re_ the rock-brained golem who _ate_ the tart without asking!”

 

Keith grunts, lids lowering in denial.

 

“And it’s not _you_ specifically that I’m worried about,” Lance continues, arms crossing over his chest as he explains himself. “It’s the spell. It’s _me_. You’re just another obstacle that I have to overcome in order to be free. You're a hindrance. The only reason I'm helping is because you'd just make trouble for some other poor soul trying to live their own life.”

 

Keith’s head lowers in response, ears flat as he turns away, causing Lance to falter and trail off.

 

_Was that too harsh? I mean...it’s the truth though. He’s just another problem. Another waste of my time._

 

Still, Keith - as Lance is quickly coming to realize - is not very adept at hiding his emotions when in this new form, which makes blaming him more morally taxing.

 

_Damn dog. What a pain in the-_

 

But a horn is suddenly blown from the direction they had come: long and deep and alarming. It’s a warning that wolves are in the area - standard for any howls heard from the castle - and informs anyone out in the woods that they should seek immediate shelter.

 

Lance’s heart falls to his feet as he hears it, watching as the outer beacons of the castle walls are lit with fire - brightening the night and alerting any who missed the horn that danger lurks in the shadows.

 

“Brighid help us,” he whispers, more torches igniting and the sounds of shouting echoing over the fields. He whirls on Keith - who’d been watching the events unfold with his nose twitching feverishly - and feels his panic heighten. Keith is a big wolf. Huge. The size of a horse and nearly twice as thick.

 

And though Lance hadn't forgotten just how imposingly big the heir of clan Kogane had become, the exact details of the predicament they're in may have slipped his mind.

 

Firstly, this is the home of the mighty king who vanquished the wolves.

 

Secondly, no howls have been heard this close to the castle for almost ten years, and never any as foreboding.

 

And finally, Keith is not exactly familiar with their forests. He would have no idea where to go, much less stand a chance at hiding from the people who grew up here. He's a stranger, which puts him in a more precarious situation.

 

_Not good. Not good at all. Incredibly bad, actually._

 

 “We have to go. _Now!”_

 

The horn blows again, causing Lance to flinch and stumble as his foot slips. He keeps his pace though and charges through the forest without pause. Two horns mean a party is being gathered to seek out the beast that dared sing, and though Lance is not the biggest fan of the Kogane suitor, he doubts he would enjoy seeing that colourful pelt on their wall.

 

They need to escape before the arrows begin to fly.

 

“Keith!” he yells when the wolf remains put, glancing over his shoulder at the lack of noise behind him. “Come _on!”_

 

Aubergine eyes turn his way, watching him retreat deeper into the trees, but Keith remains put - standing now but still hesitant. He stares at the darkness around them, foot lifting only to be placed back down with a short whimper.

 

_What’s he waiting for?! They’ll kill him if they see him now!_

 

“Run!” Lance urges frantically, waving his arm forward. “You absolute _cave troll,_ run! Why aren’t you- _ah!”_

 

Lance yelps as he tumbles downward, having tripped over an exposed root in his distraction. His stomach is weightless as he falls, borrowing his voice to shout its surprise.

 

He braces for impact - eyes squeezing shut as he waits for pain - but it never comes. Instead, Lance lands on something soft and cushioned, hands sinking into the warmth of whatever holds him up. His eyes open, and Lance finds himself resting safely against Keith’s wolfy shoulder.

 

_What- how…? He got to me so fast…!_

 

Lance pushes himself upright after a second of shock, ears burning in embarrassment as Keith worriedly whines, but before anything can be said, a third horn blasts, and Lance is reminded of their haste.

 

_Three means the party is heading out! We aren’t safe here!_

 

 _“Run,_ ” he hisses, taking off down the path in front of Keith. He’s listened to this time - the wolf following after without resistance, and together they flee into the woods away from the castle. Lance has no idea where to go - having relied on Kalte to lead him both to and away from the stone circle, and it’s not long before he’s tiring.

 

_Morrigan take me, I can’t keep going like this! Especially in the dark!_

 

It’s nearly impossible to see, and more than once Lance trips as they go. It’s frustrating and exhausting but with the sounds of horses and the barking of hunting hounds growing louder, he forces himself onward.

 

_I can’t stop. If they catch us they’ll kill Keith. It’ll be my fault! I can’t-_

 

Something smacks into his face - sharp and stinging - and Lance comes to an abrupt halt as his hands go to his cheek.

 

 _“Iverson’s arse that hurt!”_ he curses, eye tearing up in response to being nearly gouged out by the branch that swings guiltily behind him. He’s lucky it only grazed his cheekbone, but already the mark is welling up, burning and sore. Keith skids to a stop - having blown by him without realizing - with raised ears and wide eyes as he turns back.

 

“I’m fine,” Lance waves him off with his other hand, taking an uneasy step to prove his point. “Keep going.”

 

But Keith doesn’t obey and hurries back to his side with several low repetitive whines. A wet nose brushes against the hand covering his cheek, and Lance jerks back with a gasp.

 

“Stop! Don’t touch-” he winces, taking his fingers away when he feels blood begin to well beneath them. _Perfect._

 

Keith whimpers, voice broken and apprehensive, but steps back as asked. Lance inhales shakily, nails biting into his palms as he shakes his head and continues on. They can’t stop now. Not with his father likely leading the hunt.

 

But he trips as he tries walking forward - vision blurry from the tears that refuse to clear in the eye above his wound, and Lance finds himself once again resting against Keith’s shoulder.

 

He shoves off with a grunt, but Keith doesn’t accept the refusal of help this time. He edges forward, keeping close to Lance’s side and growling quietly whenever his offer is ignored.

 

“I told you I’m-” but Lance breaks off as he hears the high-pitched whistle only his father can make, followed by several whoops and hollers that Lance recognizes as the other clan leaders. “No, no no no no-!”

 

_Why are they following us! Why are they trying to hunt us! Just let us disappear!_

 

Lance makes a small noise of panic, fingers digging unknowingly into the fur of Keith’s back. He hears a low bark from beside him but ignores it for the time being.

 

_They shouldn’t even be out! This is a job for the suitors if anything! Why is dad leading the charge!_

 

 _It’s probably because they’re all ale-brained,_ some part of him determines. _Gah, where is Mum’s voice of reason when you need it!_

 

Keith crouches suddenly, and Lance loses his grip on the fur as he stumbles at the shift.

 

“What-” but he cuts off when Keith barks again, eyes darting from Lance to his own back with purpose. He sinks lower, watching expectantly.

 

And it clicks.

 

“No _way!”_ Lance exclaims, attempting to step away but bumping into a nearby tree. Keith edges closer, whining now as more shouts can be heard. Lance knows what he’s trying to say: what he’s proposing they do to escape.

 

_He wants me to get on his back!_

 

“I’m not doing that,” he argues with a frown, feeling the sting in his cheek begin to throb. “You should just keep going. I’ll find a place to hide, or...or lead them away from you if they find me-”

 

But Keith interrupts him with a huff - nose nudging into his hand. It’s cold, and again Lance pulls away.

 

“Stop, Keith! Just go! I can-” Something blue suddenly flickers in the woods ahead of them, cutting Lance off as it catches his eye.

 

 _A wisp!_ he notices in relief, but it’s short-lived as he realizes his plan to hide is pointless. _Morrigan take me. I can’t leave him alone! I’m the only one who knows how to find Allura!_

 

_And even if that weren't the case, Keith wouldn't stand a chance against my father in a competition of predator versus prey._

 

 _The hunter is now the hunted. How_ blissfully _poetic._

 

So with a low, drawn-out groan, Lance stares Keith in the eye and points his finger menacingly.

 

“ _Never_ speak of this to anyone,” he orders, and then hoists himself up onto Keith's back, grabbing fistfuls of fur as Keith stands with an uncanny smirk. Lance yelps at the increased height, digging his legs into the wolf's sides as his pulse hammers in fear, but he manages to quell it long enough to look back at the wisp.

 

It’s gone, however, and Lance curses under his breath as more hollers can be heard behind them.

 

 _I hate this day_ , he thinks bitterly, but gestures to the spot the wisp had been, knowing what it's appearance had meant.

 

“Go that way,” he informs, and lowers himself into bristly fur as he hears his father whistle once more.

 

Keith’s enormous head bobs up and down in understanding, and then - without any sort of warning - he’s running. Lance resists the urge to scream, holding tighter whilst trying to navigate through the trees. It’s useless though, being nearly impossible to see anything as Keith sprints at a dizzying speed. Lance abandons his efforts as he’s forced to keep his head down to avoid being hit by more branches, focusing instead on not falling off.

 

He can feel Keith’s powerful muscles beneath him, finding the motion of four moving legs somewhat similar a horse. But Keith is _much_ faster, and when he jumps he does so fluidly without breaking pace. It’s disorientating and unnatural, but Lance manages to hold on.

 

He has no other choice.

 

The sounds of the hunters are replaced by the rush of wind in his ears - ripping back the hood of his cloak in cold, unrelenting gusts. Lance shivers, pressing deeper into Keith’s back where the warmth radiates like the heat of a steady fire - pulsing into his clothing with every forward lunge. Lance keeps his eyes closed, but he relaxes somewhat as his body grows used to the way Keith moves. It’s still strange, but it’s tolerable, and as more time passes Lance finds himself almost regretting the hour of day at which they’d chosen to flee, imagining what it must look like to travel at such a speed without his vision hindered by shadows.

 

To see the world dissolve into streaks of colour.

 

To hear nothing but the echo of his own heartbeat in his ears as the wind drowns out all else.

 

To feel like the birds he’d watched with envy at the peak of Marmora’s Blade: to have wings and _fly._

 

It’s no longer strange - the sensation of Keith carrying him away. It’s almost remarkable.

 

Horrifying yes, but borderline amazing, and were the situation any different Lance might even _enjoy_ the giddy uneasiness of riding a direwolf through the forest - like some great, _whimsical_ story his mother would tell the triplets before bed.

 

_Maybe one day I’ll tell them myself. They’d never believe me...but still._

 

He ends up losing himself to the smooth pace at which they travel - stomach lurching with every jump or quick turn. Lance keeps his grip, but aside from Keith's fur beneath his fingers, there's not much else he can discern.

 

He wonders how far they've traveled, trying to judge speed and distance based on the pitch of the wind, but it's hopeless. Everything is a dark blur, and just when he's about to call out for Keith to stop the forward motion slows - the howling in his ears easing away to silence.

 

Lance lifts his head, blinking up at the moonlight shining down on the clearing they'd entered. He can hear no whistles or hooves or eager woops of clansmen with bows drawn, meaning they'd managed to outrun the pursuers for now.

 

 _Which is good,_ Lance thinks, and then Keith comes to an abrupt stop. He growls anxiously, and Lance's eyes drift over to the hill before them, where the same stone circle he’d found himself in earlier that evening throws long shadows that blend with the woods.

 

 _The Witch’s Crown._ _How convenient._

 

It's no less intimidating the second time around. In fact, Lance is more wary of it now that he knows it's magic, but thankfully no mist circles the border, so he sighs and runs a hand through his wind-swept hair.

 

“This is it,” he murmurs, ignoring when Keith turns to stare back at him with raised golden brows. “Or...well. I know where to go from here.”

 

He slides down from Keith's back, landing stiffly on numb legs, and winces as his muscles complain when he stretches.

 

Keith watches him patiently, eyes following his every move as Lance makes his way to the center of the circle. It's brighter in the middle - the moon directly overhead as Lance looks for the path that the wisps had shown him before.

 

“It's around here somewhe-” he breaks off as he turns, coming face to face with a massive direwolf head. He gasps, hand going to his chest as he reminds himself it's only Keith staring back at him so close - no concept of personal space in this new form. Or maybe just in general. Lance doesn’t really know the Kogane well enough to determine which is the case. _“Morrigan curse you!_ Don't sneak up on me like that!”

 

Keith blinks, eyes moving down to his cheek. He whimpers, leaning forward as if to touch it with his nose, and Lance swats him away.

 

“I'm trying to focus here!” he exclaims, hand reaching out to cover his still throbbing cut. It's no longer bleeding, thankfully, but he knows it will bruise.

 

 _Whatever. Those are future Lance problems. And who knows, maybe mum will postpone the hunt even longer if I return looking like I've been in a fight with a thorn bush. I have to be_ presentable _. Brighid forbid I look anything less than perfect._

 

So he moves passed Keith, wracking his brain for any details of the trail away from the stones he may be missing. A strangely shaped tree. An overturned rock. A wisp even.

 

But there's nothing, and when Keith huffs from behind him Lance randomly chooses a spot between the trees ahead of them and walks.

 

“This way,” he calls out, and is followed after a skeptical wolfish grunt. He's not sure for how long they go before Keith begins nudging him with his head, trying to get his attention.

 

 _He knows I'm lost,_ Lance grumbles as he keeps moving. _But I'm not giving him the satisfaction of admitting that._

 

Finally, Keith gives up his attempts at being passive and jumps in front of Lance, growling deeply with a spark in his eyes.

 

Lance falters, frowning at the wordless confrontation.

 

“It's somewhere around here, okay?!”

 

Keith doesn’t back down, foot stamping into the dry detritus as he barks whatever human words he can no longer speak. Lance can guess what he’s saying though, and rolls his eyes in annoyance.

 

“I'll find it. You just have to trust me.”

 

Keith exhales, ears sinking to the side dubiously.

 

“I know what I'm doing,” Lance argues despite nothing being said. He just _knows_ what Keith is thinking - can sense the judgment in those huckleberry eyes. He looks away, hands folding over his chest. “It's not like I have a _map_ or anything. Last time I was led by- _there!”_

 

Lance points, excitement replacing his frustration as he recognizes the small hill to their right. The trees bend at the same strange angles - thick with moss and unnervingly quiet.

 

But Lance feels only relief as he sprints towards them, darting up the hill to where Allura’s hut is waiting on the other side. It comes into view as he reaches the crest - still nestled between the root wad of the ancient tree and looking just as dingy as Lance remembers. There's no light in the window this time, but he thinks that's only because Allura must be asleep.

 

 _She's about to get a rude awakening!_ he smirks, glancing back at Keith - who'd remained at the foot of the hill with his head tilted in confusion.

 

“I told you I’d find it!”

 

He runs forward as Keith darts after him, slowing at the door and knocking hastily thrice. There’s no answer, so Lance knocks again - louder this time just in case. Keith comes up to his side, smelling the door with his ears back. Silence answers, and Lance experiences a growing sense of doom.

 

_Come on…_

 

After the third round of knocking he abandons his manners and throws the door open, tumbling forward into darkness. His eyes adjust quickly though, and Lance is met with a sickening nothing.

 

No crystals. No gems. No sparkles or glitter or shine. The room is void of all life, save for the familiar cauldron in the center of the room.

 

Lance bolts towards it, heart pounding in denial as he stares down into a slowly spinning concoction.

 

“Please, please…” he mutters under his breath, and all at once the liquid begins to glow - cauldron shaking with such a vigour that Lance is forced to step back. Keith growls from the entrance, too big to fit anything but his head inside the hut, but Lance waves him off.

 

“Allura!” he calls out forcefully. “Show yourself!”

 

And then she does, only...not in the way Lance had meant. A spectral image of her face flashes to life above the cauldron, looking like a reflection in water but hovering in mid-air. Lance gapes at it, mouth ajar at the strange display of magic.

 

“Greetings!” she smiles, teeth pointed and eyes dazzling. Lance blinks and hastily approaches.

 

“Allura! It’s me-”

 

“I am currently away,” she continues without hearing, and Lance’s shoulders sag as he watches the message unfold. “I have been summoned to Oriande in regards to a recent bit of spellcraft I performed this night, and will not be back for upwards of three deca-phoebs.”

 

“No, no no!” Lance panics, hands carding through his hair in dread. “How long is that?!”

 

“If you have questions about my wares, please leave a message with Plachu. Call his name and he shall appear.”

 

“Who-?” Lance begins, but is cut off as Allura goes on.

 

“If you are wishing to trade favours, please leave a message with Platt. Call his name and he shall appear.”

 

“Wait, Allura-!”

 

“If you are the young man whom I met several vargas ago, call out for Chulatt.”

 

Lance pauses, shaking his head as her words drift around the hut.

 

“What’s a varga, who is-”

 

“If you are simply lost and need help, call for-”

 

“No, _stop!”_ Lance rushes, waving his hands in front of her mirage in a frenzy. “I’m-it’s _me!_ Uh...come out, Chulatt!”

 

Allura’s face stills, eyes moving to the far side of the room. She speaks in a language Lance doesn’t recognize, and in response a small, almost _blue_ mouse appears from a hole in the wall, scurrying across the floor and up the side of the cauldron. Lance stares at it, watching as it drops what appears to be a piece of brown hair into the mixture.

 

_Is that mine?!_

 

“What are you-” but he trails off as the pot begins to boil - large bubbles rising that change the colour of the potion to a deep red. The bubbles begin to pop with the growing heat, and in the resulting steam Allura’s message changes.

 

“Lance of clan McClain,” she speaks in a low voice, eyes now dark and cautious. He steps forward with a nod - too startled for words. “I forgot to warn you about the effects of the spell.”

 

“You don’t say,” he grumbles, glancing back at Keith. “I didn’t ask for a wolf-”

 

“Two sunrises are all you have,” she continues without pause, and Lance fumbles to a stop.

 

“Wh- _what?”_

 

“Two sunrises to change your fate, lest the fate of the one changed become permanent.”

 

“What does _that_ mean?!” Lance scrambles to understand, and the light she emits turns a deep merlot, colouring the room in purple shadows. Her voice deepens, eyes glowing a solid white as her hair dances around her face, and when she speaks it’s in verse.

 

_“Learn to see past battles old, hearts to change once truths be told.”_

 

The room lightens, and when she smiles back down at him it’s with the same watery image as before. Lance can only stare, goosebumps decorating his skin as Keith’s unease rumbles from the doorway.

 

“I wish you luck,” Allura states simply - as if she'd just told him which way to go to the nearest berry patch and not some piece of alarming poetry - and Lance finds his voice.

 

“Wait! What do you _mean_ two sunrises?! What was that poem just now- _Allura!”_

 

She winks, smirking.

 

“You have an interesting destiny, Lance of clan McClain. I wish I could be there to watch it unfold.”

 

“Then come back!” he urges, but she doesn’t hear.

 

“Remember what I told you and seek your own truth. Chulatt will give you something to help communicate with the one changed, if you so wish.” Her image begins to fade, light dissipating and shrinking back into the cauldron. Lance grabs the edge of it in distress.

 

“Don’t go! Explain what you meant! You can’t just leave me with this-!”

 

“Two sunrises,” Allura repeats unhelpfully, voice now a whisper as she blinks out of existence. The room goes dark, and Lance is left staring down into the same coloured mixture as when he’d first entered the hut.

 

He can say nothing - can think nothing. There's just paralyzing shock, and it’s only when Keith whimpers softly from behind him that Lance snaps out of his disbelief.

 

“How...what just happened!? What did she mean…!” He grows angry in his confusion, fists clenching at his sides. “Allura! I demand you return at once!”

 

The room remains empty, so he tries a different tactic.

 

“Chulatt!” he yells, and the same blue mouse returns, pulling a small leather bag behind it. It stops at his feet, dropping the bag and nodding once before darting away. Lance hurriedly bends to retrieve it, reaching in to find two pieces of jewelry with polished light blue stones woven into an intricately knotted cord. They’re lovely, but Lance fails to see their purpose aside from decoration to be worn at celebrations.

 

“I don’t want these!” he exclaims, dumping the bag over into his hand in case he’d missed something. A small folded note falls into his palm, and Lance eagerly holds it up to what little light remains in the hut to read with.

 

The scrawl is flowy and delicate, but the words are cryptic. Lance frowns down at them, reading the sentence out loud.

 

_“Turquoise for communication. So that you may speak….and listen.”_

 

He reads it again to himself, and then flips it over to see if there’s more on the other side. But the note is blank save for those few words, and Lance ignores when Keith whines from the doorway.

 

 _No way. This isn’t happening! She_ has _to be here! She_ has _to help me! Help us! What I am supposed to do about Keith?!_

 

“Chulatt!” he calls again, but when the mouse appears again it’s with hesitation. Lance points at the cauldron. “Bring her back. _Please!_ ”

 

The mouse follows his finger and then turns back to him, shaking its head before fleeing.

 

“No-! Uh…” Lance tries to recall what else Allura had said - what other names she had given. “Um- _oh!_ Platt! Plachu!”

 

Two other mice appear, but like the one before all they do is glance at the cauldron and shake their heads before running off.

 

“Why!?” Lance cries, hurrying over to the shelves and gathering anything he can find. He tosses several dried leaves into the mixture, and though it turns a bright, sickly yellow, nothing happens.

 

_Why why why-!_

 

He throws in what looks to be some kind of finger bone, watching the contents begin to hiss and crackle. Nothing.

 

A broken stick, and the potion smells of bread and charcoal, but still nothing.

 

A handful of dirt that flies back at him. Nothing.

 

A hair plucked from his head. Nothing!

 

A pebble. A feather. A silver button from his shirt.

 

But alas. Nothing works.

 

“I can’t do this by myself!” Lance confesses with growing agitation, attention turning to the bag the mouse had brought - to the strange stones and the note Allura left him. _“Help me!”_

 

He throws it into the cauldron as a last-ditch effort, gasping as the contents suddenly swirl at a dizzying speed, glowing brighter and brighter until Lance is forced to look away lest he burn his eyes. The room spins - humming louder and continuously until he has to cover his ears as well. He falls to his knees, shrinking in on himself as the ground starts to shake beneath him.

 

It’s overwhelming, and Lance isn’t sure if his own screams join in with the increasing volume of the world around him as the cauldron overflows - drops of scalding liquid becoming glistening rocks as they fall.

 

The hut continues to vibrate - Keith now whimpering worriedly as Lance cowers in the center of the room.

 

Lance doesn’t hear it though - too overtaken by every one of his senses reaching maximum capacity. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, colours burn into his lids. Even with his nose shoved into his arm, he can smell the ripe scent of blueberries and smoke. Even with his body fully clothed he feels cold and stiff. He can taste the tang of copper in his mouth from where he bites into his cheek as he tries not to vomit in his disorientation.

 

But worst of all is the noises he hears. The laughing. The shouting. The beat of drums. The chime of bells. The howling in his ears - loud and penetrating and _awful!_

 

Something crashes behind him, wood splintering as it breaks, and a great warmth follows. It surrounds him. Engulfs him. Dampens the sensory overload to a level Lance can tolerate.

 

 _I’m saved,_ some part of him thinks, but then the sounds around him increase to a pitch that drowns out all else - a ringing in the air that brings tears to his eyes.

 

 _Make it stop, make it stop!_ he begs, and a powerful explosion reverberates in his bones. It echoes all around them - deafening and suffocating and shattering the hut to oblivion.

 

And then everything is still. Everything is silent. Lance slowly opens his eyes, glancing up to see Keith hovering over him protectively with his ears back and teeth barred - growling at something ahead.

 

Lance turns to see what has his hackles raised, and notices the same leather bag he had thrown into the cauldron - the final ingredient to the blast that had rendered the hut a scattered few pieces of wood with colourful scorch marks burned into the ground.

 

Lance watches it uneasily, waiting to see if it's truly safe to move out from under Keith's protective barrier, and then scrambles towards it on his hands and knees when the night remains quiet.

 

Aside from some dirt on the leather, nothing is different. It still carries the same jewelry - the same meaningless note. The same sense of plummeting hope.

 

He gapes down at it numbly, hearing Keith approach and whine in question. But Lance can’t answer him. He can’t even _look_ at him.

 

Because if Allura is gone then he has no plan. He can do _nothing_ to help the heir to clan Kogane with this fate. All he has are some pretty pendants and a growing headache that is rendered pitiful by the overwhelming _guilt_ weighing him down.

 

_What am I supposed to do…?_

 

He hears something shuffle to his left, and glances over to see four mice blink over at him - three of which he recognizes from before the explosion. He thinks he should apologize for ruining their home, but he doesn't get the chance.

 

One by one the mice fade away, until all that is left is the one called Chulatt, who raises a paw to _wave_ before dissolving into stardust.

 

Keith huffs after a moment - warm air brushing against Lance’s neck and reminding him of the problem he’d done nothing to remedy. If anything it’s been made worse - going by Allura’s two sunrise warning - and when he finally forces himself to stare back at Keith it’s with remorse.

 

“I don’t understand,” he admits truthfully, voice frail. “She was supposed to help. She was going to fix this. She…” but he trails off when Keith lowers his head to the bag Lance still holds, purple eyes flickering back to his face in question.

 

“They’re just trinkets,” Lance explains with a sigh, emptying the contents onto the ground. The jewelry falls out - a necklace and a bracelet from what he can tell - and Keith sniffs the turquoise stones in curiosity. “See? Useless.”

 

He reaches for the note again, reading the same message.

 

_‘So that you may speak….and listen.’ What does that even mean? What does any of it mean!?_

 

He crumples the paper between his fingers, letting it drop to the ground along with the jewelry before rising to his feet and turning away from what remains of Allura's hut.

 

“Two sunrises,” he mutters darkly, finding a large rock to sit up against as he broods. Thunder rumbles in the distance - the night sky growing darker with incoming clouds. “Two sunrises is all I have to fix this. But how am I supposed to do that?!”

 

Keith watches him from across the way, eyes unblinking when Lance meets them.

 

 _How am I supposed to help you now? And what did that rhyme mean?_ He looks away, down at the dirt littered with tiny pebbles and dried leaves.

 

_See past battles? Hearts? Truths? Which battles? What truths? Whose hearts!?_

 

“Morrigan take me,” he curses softly, losing his will to figure any of it out and resting his head in his hands. He's utterly lost - more so now than when he was wandering the woods in search of a wolf, or a way to change his fate.

 

The irony is that, in some roundabout fashion, he had found just those things, with a cruel twist to make his life more miserable in the end.

 

 _Never seek with the mind once in the forest,_ Lance recalls the warnings of old - the words of his mother ingrained in him since he was a child. _The old magics will twist those desires. Change them._

 

_But did I listen? No._

 

“I never listen,” he grumbles bitterly, kicking at a nearby rock but finding it brings no satisfaction - no outlet for his heavy emotions. He's livid. Thoroughly unimpressed.

 

But more than anything he's ashamed, and when Keith makes a small noise to get his attention Lance pulls his hood over his head and sinks deeper into his melancholy - not knowing what to say anymore.

 

 _It's a good thing he likes wolves so much, seeing as he might stay one forever,_ Lance mopes sarcastically, but the thought only worsens his mood. He bites the inside of his already raw cheek, foot tapping restlessly against the ground.

 

_This is all my fault. I should never have trusted Allura. I should have stayed at home. I should have listened to mum and just married whoever won the stupid hunt._

 

He exhales brokenly, fighting the urge to cry.

 

_I should have just accepted my fate for what it was and not tried to change it. I deserve to be the wolf here, not Keith-_

 

He breaks off as something is dropped into his lap, and blinks down at the two pieces of jewelry he'd left where the cauldron had once stood.

 

His gaze lifts to see Keith sitting before him - having soundlessly approached - and Lance sighs as he picks the smaller bracelet up, fiddling with it between his fingers.

 

 _I guess I can give these to mum as an apology,_ he tries to reason - desperate now for any sort of silver lining - and Keith leans forward to touch his nose to one of the turquoise stones.

 

**I like them. They match his eyes.**

 

_I suppose they-_

 

“Wait,” Lance’s head jerks up to Keith as the enormous face backs away, frowning as he realizes that thought had _not_ been his own. “Did you just say something?”

 

Keith's golden brows lower, head tilting slightly to the side as he barks softly.

 

“No,” Lance shakes his head. “Not like that. It was in my head, but I didn’t...I just heard-” but he breaks off, hearing how ridiculous he must sound. “Nevermind. Forget it.”

 

He stands, the thunder much closer now, and finds a small outcropping near the hill that he can seek shelter beneath until the storm passes. He’s too exhausted to attempt heading back to the castle now, and even if he weren’t drained in all senses of the word, Lance still has no idea what to do about Keith. He can’t exactly return with a direwolf and few smooth blue rocks and try to explain it all by blaming the fae.

 

_But what other choice do I have? I have two sunrises to fix this, and all I have to go off of is a poem that makes no sense._

 

He curls in on himself, resting against the cold ground and hugging his knees to his chest. He stares down at the jewelry he still holds in his hands, wondering what Allura had meant by her note. Wondering why she had left so inconveniently with such cryptic messages. Wondering why he’s alone in the woods being watched by a wolf who’s actually a man who may be trapped forever as a monster if Lance can’t figure out what to do.

 

 _But what_ can _I do?_ he thinks in resignation, feeling his eyes slide shut. Thunder grumbles directly overhead - a great drum that burrows deep into the ground - and when it begins to rain Lance lets his tears join the water that flows down his cheeks.

 

_What can I do…_

 

* * *

 

He wakes to warmth, which is not what he fell asleep to.

 

He remembers shivering - cold chills and frigid droplets soaking into his clothing as the rain poured relentlessly down - thinking he’d passed out at some point when the last dregs of energy slipped away.

 

But when Lance blinks the sleep from his eyes he’s almost _sweating,_ and it doesn’t take him long to figure out why.

 

Keith is curled around him, body shielding him from the elements and radiating heat that reminds Lance of sitting by the roaring fires of the entrance hall, wrapped up in furs during the long winter nights. Only...the fur around him now belongs to a direwolf. A _real_ direwolf. And rather than comfort, Lance feels a growing sense of alarm - too scared to move lest he wakes the giant beast at his side.

 

 _If I startle him I’ll get smothered!_ Lance foresees, going about his re-evaluation of the situation. Keith’s head rests directly above his own, if the soft snoring is any indication, meaning he'll have to be stealthy in his escape to prevent waking his apparent saviour from the storm.

 

_I owe him that at least._

 

But when Lance tries to quietly wiggle away he finds he can’t move. Or rather, he’s being kept in place by the massive _paw_ resting over his torso.

 

 _Wha- Are you_ kidding _me?!_

 

He tries lifting it, but with his arms trapped beneath its weight, he can’t get much leverage. In fact, he can do nothing but move his head, finding his legs stiff and useless from resting in the same position on the hard ground for hours.

 

 _Morrigan take me,_ he curses, shifting his hands towards Keith’s chest in hopes of sliding _out_ from under the weight rather than up. Keith grumbles as Lance’s fingers find solid muscle buried beneath a thick coat of fur - the turquoise stones he still holds lost in the greys and blacks and golds as he sinks into Keith’s coat up to his wrists.

 

 _No wonder I’m boiling to death,_ Lance grunts as heat soaks into his digits. _How is he not constantly sweating? Or…._ panting _, I guess._

 

He tries to push but stops abruptly when Keith whines in sleepy annoyance. The noise trails off after a moment, and Lance holds his breath as he tries again.

 

Another grunt, but Lance pushes through it, gritting his teeth as he struggles to be free of the paw slowly crushing him. His efforts are futile though, and with an exasperated sigh he's forced to give up.

 

He’s trapped - thoroughly cradled against a giant wolf with no way escaping.

 

Unless…

 

“Keith,” he whispers, guilty about having to resort to waking the wolf-boy. But now that he’s aware of the weight on his torso he’s finding it harder to breathe. He’s claustrophobic - slowly suffocating in the direwolf’s overwhelming presence. “Keith, wake up.”

 

He tries shaking him, fingers pressing into his chest but failing to do anything but move the fur.

 

“Keith!” he squeaks a little louder. “You're squishing me!”

 

A soft huff this time, and then - clear as the ice crystals that grow only in the north - he hears a voice in his head.

 

**_Ugh. It's too early._ **

 

Lance freezes, _certain_ the thought hadn't been of his own doing. The voice had been lower, deeper. More gravelly.

 

_Familiar._

 

“How-?” he begins, shaking Keith again. “Hey! Wake up!”

 

Keith stirs - paw shifting on Lance but still holding him down - and yawns.

 

 ** _Is he awake?_** Lance hears again, eyes growing wide. He's positive that it's Keith's voice, but the words aren't spoken aloud. Rather, they're almost _projected_ into his mind - intrusive and foreign - like having the fae whispering in his ears. He shivers, and Keith lifts his head.

 

**_Is he still cold?_ **

 

 _“How are you doing that?!”_ Lance hisses in alarm, wanting to cover his ears but unable to with his arms still trapped. “Get off!”

 

 ** _Oh, right,_** the voice is almost guilty, and then Keith _finally_ lifts his leg, freeing Lance from its heft. **_I hope I didn't hurt him…_**

 

Lance scurries backward, the turquoise necklace slipping from his grasp as he hits into the side of the hill he'd tucked himself against. He brings his hands to his chest in defense, fingers clenched tight around the bracelet he’d managed to hold onto, as if it were some sort of weapon to protect him from the voice.

 

“Stop talking!” he orders frantically. “I can hear you!”

 

Keith tilts his head and whines in question, but when Lance braces himself for more words he hears only his own thoughts.

 

_Wha….why?!_

 

“I swear I heard you talk just now…”

 

Keith steps forward, accidentally covering the fallen necklace with his paw, and just like that the voice comes rushing back.

 

**_Is he alright? He seems frightened. Is it because of me? Did I do something?_ **

 

“Agh _stop!”_ Lance yelps, covering his head with his arms. But Keith doesn’t.

 

 ** _What’s wrong?! What does he mean?! I haven’t done anythi-_** the voice breaks off as Keith moves back, head low and ears flat as he whines, revealing the turquoise necklace semi-buried in the ground.

 

Lance stares at it for a long moment, gaze drifting down to the matching set of jewelry he has clenched in his fist - the words of Allura’s note surfacing.

 

_‘Turquoise for communication. So that you may speak….and listen.’_

 

Lance frowns, lifting his head to stare up at Keith.

 

_No way…_

 

“Touch the necklace again,” he whispers slowly, and when Keith hesitates Lance lurches forward and grabs it, holding it against Keith’s leg and immediately hearing the grunt of confusion translated into words.

 

**_-he doing?! Is he mad? I didn’t know it was there! I didn't mean to step on….wait, why’s he staring at me like that…?_ **

 

Lance blinks in awe, mouth open and brows furrowed as he listens to Keith’s thoughts. Because that's what it _has_ to be, right? It's his voice! His words! His inner monologue planted directly into Lance's head!

 

He takes the necklace away to test the theory, and sure enough, Keith’s voice grows silent.

 

“Okay, that’s weird,” Lance murmurs, pressing the stones back to his leg. “What colour are my eyes?” he asks, and Keith tilts his head.

 

**_Why is he asking me-_ **

 

“Just answer the question!” Lance interrupts, watching Keith’s ears droop at his tone. “What colour are my eyes!”

 

**_….they’re blue-_ **

 

“Ha!” Lance woops, standing abruptly and hitting his head on the overhanging roots that had kept him semi-dry before Keith took over the job. He grunts, wiggling his way out into the clearing where the hut had been to stand properly before turning back to the wolf. “Here, give me your paw.”

 

Keith does as ordered, lifting it daintily for him to grab. Only Lance doesn’t, instead slipping the necklace over the thick fur to rest at the ankle.

 

 _Huh. Maybe it wasn’t a necklace after all, but rather a wolf-sized bracelet to match this one,_ Lance realizes as he slips the other piece of jewelry onto his own wrist, stepping back as Keith watches him with raised golden brows.

 

“I can hear what you’re thinking,” Lance states somewhat ridiculously, and Keith reacts accordingly.

 

**_He can what?! How is that possible! He can't-!_ **

 

“I can.”

 

Keith pauses, narrowing his eyes.

 

 **_Wait, can he - can_ ** **you _\- hear me now?_**

 

“Yes,” Lance answers almost boredly, and Keith jumps up in a panic.

 

**_WHAT?! Oh for Gane’s sake, what if I think something embarrassing?! What if I offend him or make him upset without meaning to?! Okay, hold on. Calm down. He’s looking at me weirdly. Can he hear this? He can probably hear this. But if he can hear me then that means I can talk to him finally, right?_ **

 

Keith stills, ears forward as he lowers his head so they're eye level.

 

**_Lance?_ **

 

“The one and only.”

 

And Keith goes back to freaking out, running in circles as he attempts removing the turquoise stones from his paw.

 

**_This is bad. Very bad. I have no control over my thoughts! I can’t let him know what I’m thinking! This is-_ **

 

“Keith!” Lance shouts over the commotion, and the voice in his head stops. “This is a _good_ thing! I might be able to help you with these,” he points to his own bracelet, and Keith slowly lowers his foot back to the ground.

 

**_How…?_ **

 

“Uh, maybe because I can _hear you?!_ ” Lance points out, confounded that he has to explain something so seemingly evident. “If we go back to the castle I can make my father wear this and he’ll understand that it’s really you in there, and not some wild beast!”

 

 ** _I’m not a beast,_** Keith huffs, and Lance rolls his eyes.

 

“To him, you would be. But not if we have a way to explain that you’re harmless!”

 

 ** _I’m not harmless!_** Keith argues again. **_I’m perfectly capable of doing harm. I’m a warrior of clan Kogane, renowned for-_**

 

“Morrigan take me,” Lance grumbles under his breath. “Fine. You’re a menace to society. A killing machine. Feared by all who see you. Happy now?”

 

Keith snorts, incredulous.

 

**_Not when you put it like that. You make me sound so evil._ **

 

Lance bites back a grin as he hears the pout Keith's voice carries, turning away lest it shows on his face.

 

“Well, you _did_ propose to me after I made it perfectly clear how opposed to marriage I was, so…”

 

 ** _That’s-_** but Keith breaks off, expression bashful when Lance peeks back over his shoulder. **_I may have misread the situation…_**

 

“You don’t say,” Lance drawls sarcastically, and Keith shoots him a blank look.

 

**_I just thought you might be more open to it if I made my intentions clear-_ **

 

“By bending the rules of the hunt to suit your own needs? Besides, the wolf has to be _real,_ not wooden.”

 

**_Hey! I worked for hours on that carving!_ **

 

“Still doesn’t count,” Lance simpers, wondering what could have _possibly_ been going through Keith's head to think he could win that way. “I can’t believe you actually thought that would work-”

 

 ** _I already told you I made a mistake._** Keith interrupts abruptly, staring at the ground. **_It won’t happen again._**

 

Lance’s smile fades, shoulders straightening at the finality in Keith’s tone. He swallows thickly, oddly disappointed.

 

“Right, good,” he replies disjointedly, brushing the dirt from his cloak to distract his hands. “We should head out then-”

 

 ** _Is your face okay?_** Keith suddenly asks, and Lance whirls on him with a scowl.

 

“Is my- _what_ kind of question is that?!”

 

_Is he making fun of me?! Did I blush? Is there mud on my chin? Sorry if I didn’t get a decent night’s rest-_

 

 ** _The cut on your cheek,_** Keith answers, halting Lance’s downward spiral. **_It looks a bit bruised. Does it hurt?_**

 

There’s a fondness in his voice that Lance feels he doesn’t deserve, especially after the clipped tone that had been used only seconds before. So rather than answer truthfully - that it  _does_ hurt - Lance brushes off the concern impatiently.

 

“I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

 

 ** _Alright then,_** Keith hums somewhat skeptically, nose twitching as he leans forward. **_Do you have a fever?_**

 

Lance balks, face flushing as he tears his gaze away from those soft purple eyes.

 

“What? No! Why would I have a _fever_ for?!”

 

**_Well, you’re all red for one-_ **

 

“That’s not-!”

 

 ** _And you were shivering uncontrollably last night,_** Keith continues, standing on all fours so that he's closer. Lance backs away in response.

 

“I wasn’t expecting it to rain…”

 

**_Which is why I slept beside you._ **

 

Lance coughs - saliva going down the wrong tube at Keith’s words - and hastily shakes his head to cover his growing awkwardness.

 

“I didn’t _ask_ you to do that!”

 

 ** _I know,_** Keith _smirks,_ that bastard, taking another step closer. **_But you were cold, and I’m a gentleman._**

 

“I thought you said you were a warrior,” Lance fires back, but Keith isn’t bothered in the slightest.

 

**_I can be both. Aren’t you impressed? I’m multidimensional. A real-_ **

 

“Pain in the arse?”

 

Keith grunts, tail swaying lethargically back and forth.

 

**_I think I like you better when you’re asleep._ **

 

“I could say the same about you!” Lance retorts, somewhat offended. “Except that you almost _squashed me to death!”_

 

**_That was of your own doing!_ **

 

“In what way!?”

 

Keith moves to Lance’s side, eyes watching him as he speaks his mind.

 

 ** _As soon as you felt my warmth you snuggled right up to me._** He presses against Lance’s side, coiling around his body shamelessly like some giant house cat.

 

“Wh- _HEY!”_ Lance squeaks, feeling his cheeks burn as he’s once again caught in Keith’s fur. “I did not!”

 

 ** _You did so,_** he’s answered slyly - the humour in Keith’s voice making Lance fume. **_You sighed and smiled in your sleep, slipping right under my leg to nestle up nice and close-_**

 

“Lies!” Lance shushes, breaking free of Keith’s unwanted physical contact with pink ears.

 

_He’s making that up. I did no such thing. And even if I did it was on instinct, not by choice._

 

But that doesn’t feel like a strong enough point to win him the argument, so Lance changes the topic by promptly walking off towards the path over the hill.

 

 ** _Where are you going?_** he’s asked, but chooses to ignore the question in retaliation. Keith catches on soon enough. **_Hey! I’m sorry if I offended you! I promise I won’t say anything more, even about how you talk in your sleep!_**

 

“I don’t talk in my sleep!” Lance defends automatically, regretting his outburst the moment he caves. Because it’s being strange hearing someone else’s laugh in his head - bright and charming and soft - but that’s exactly what he experiences as Keith trots after him in victory.

 

 ** _Don't worry,_** he attempts to reassure, tone too pleased to be sincere. **_It was all gibberish. Something about goblins taking your arrows. You got rather upset at one point-_**

 

“I did not!”

 

**_-and that’s when you started petting me. Kind of weird, but I didn't mind-_ **

 

“ _Why_ are you _so annoying?!”_ Lance flushes - face on fire as he clenches his fists.

 

 _He's lying! I didn't..._ pet _him! That's- just...no!_

 

 ** _I’m multidimensional, remember?_**  Keith snorts, tail wagging self-righteously. **_Want me to show you what else I can be?_**

 

Lance bites the inside of his cheek to keep from swearing, shoulders stiff as he avoids Keith’s eyes.

 

“Just be quiet and follow me, alright?”

 

 ** _Sure,_** Keith agrees easily, doing exactly the opposite. **_But where exactly are we going? I’m actually a bit starving, so anywhere with food would be amazing. No tarts though. Sort of lost my appetite for those-_**

 

 _“Morrigan take you!_ We’re going back to the _castle!”_  Lance exclaims, tossing his arms in the air as he finally snaps. “So hurry it up before I let the clansmen skin you alive!”

 

**_What!? Why!_ **

 

“Because you’re a giant wolf and they'd love to hang you on their walls-”

 

 ** _No, not that,_** Keith cuts in, shaking his head. **_Besides, I don't think you’d let that happen._**

 

 _Don’t tempt me,_ Lance thinks, but the thought carries no weight.

 

 ** _I mean,_** Keith goes on with genuine concern, ** _why are we going back to the castle? You said it was dangerous before._**

 

“It is.”

 

**_Then why are we-_ **

 

Lance comes to a stop, inhaling deeply to calm himself before turning to fully face the wolf.

 

“Because,” he explains simply, keeping his voice slow and steady so his words get through Keith’s impossibly thick head, “we only have _two_ sunrises to get you back to normal, and to ‘see past battles old’ and change your heart by telling the truth, or whatever.”

 

 ** _I don’t think that’s how that went,_** Keith nitpicks, but Lance doesn’t bother fighting it.

 

“Listen, we’re going back so you can tell my father that you’re a wolf and he shouldn’t kill you, and _hopefully_ that changes you back, okay?”

 

**_How do you know that will work?_ **

 

“I don’t,” Lance answers truthfully, heading back down the path. “But it’s all I have to work with right now, so we have to try it. Now come on, before we lose more daylight.”

 

Keith grins wolfishly, moving to Lance’s side instead of following behind him.

 

**_It sounds like you’re eager to have me back. Do you miss me that much?_ **

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

 ** _I think you do,_** Keith practically hums. **_I mean, you even took care of me when I was poisoned. Granted, you were the one to poison me in the first place so-_**

 

“I never said you could eat the tart!” Lance attempts, but Keith doesn't hear him.

 

**_Plus you're taking care of my knife and got me out of the castle in one piece. I know you trust me to an extent, since you rode on my back-_ **

 

“That had _nothing_ to do with trust.”

 

 ** _But you have to admit it was fun,_** Keith nudges into his arm. _**Running that fast through the woods. Feeling the wind in your face. I've never felt that free before, like I could go anywhere I wanted without anything to stop me. I don't know about you, but I felt like I was flying.**_

 

Lance nearly trips - knowing  _exactly_ what Keith means. But he can't be relating to the boy. He's not supposed to be finding similarities between how they think. That's a dangerous game that leads to conversations which become shared stories and exchanged details about their lives until the two are chatting amiably about how amazing it would be to have wings.

 

And that's not something Lance wants - not something he can risk happening at this point - so he shakes his head and feigns ignorance.

 

 ** _Oh,_**   _ **well, in that case,**_ Keith continues after a moment of contemplation, ** _I'd be more than willing to show you what I mean, and I'm sure you'd enjoy it. So... _ **you**_ ** _wanna try it again?_**_**

 

Lance groans - hating how he can _hear_ the wink in those words - before tugging the turquoise bracelet off his arm in response.

 

 ** _Hey, what are you doing?!_** Keith whines pitifully as he watches, which _almost_ has Lance smiling. He manages to withhold it though, and keeps his expression serious.

 

“Enough with-” he waves his hands, not knowing how to describe Keith’s behaviour. It's like he's teasing, but in a flirty sort of way, and it makes focusing difficult when Lance can hear all the different shades of mischievous that voice takes so clearly in his head.

 

 _“-whatever_ you're doing! I’m not some commoner who’ll fall for your shallow attempts at friendliness. We are _not_ friends. In fact, we’re _rivals._ Even if my mother postponed the hunt and forbade me from competing, you are still my enemy. I will fight you if I have to. And Keith?” he waits a moment, ensuring he has the wolf’s full attention before uttering his last words.

 

“I _won’t_ lose.”

 

With that, he tucks the bracelet in his front pocket and storms off - not wanting Keith to have the last word - but as his fingers brush against the stones he hears the remnants of Keith’s thoughts echo confidently in his head regardless - arrogant and infuriating as they are.

 

**_-sounds like a challenge, but I don't easily lose._ **

 

 _What a cocky bastard,_ Lance decides as he lets the jewelry go. Silence rushes to fill the voids Keith’s voice had filled, and Lance welcomes it. He has enough on his mind without having to share it with another.

 

So he keeps walking - so content with the peace and quiet of his own thoughts that he fails to notice the lack of footsteps behind him. He catches on soon enough though, and when he finally _does_ turn Lance sees no great direwolf at his heels.

 

The path is empty - nothing but a few leaves falling lazily to the earth.

 

_Where did he go!?_

 

Lance’s pulse kicks up a notch, panic seizing his muscles as the trees loom down and the silence of the forest grows heavier.

 

“K-Keith?”

 

He rushes back to where they'd last been together, searching desperately for a paw print or some clue as to where the boy had gone. But he can find nothing.

 

“This isn't funny!” he yells in growing frustration to hide the unease. “I know this is just some ploy to get me to wear the bracelet again!”

 

Silence, and Lance curses.

 

“Nice try Keith. Quit pouting and come out. I want to go home alrea-” but he's cut off by a noise in the near distance - a crack of branches too loud to be anything small.

 

 _There you are,_ Lance thinks in unexpected relief, beginning to move in the direction the sound had come. _Stubborn rock-brained Kogane thinking he can make me feel bad about shutting him up. Yeah right. As if I'd-_

 

He trails off as he hears another crack, followed by a murder of ravens taking to the sky from a stand of scraggly alder just ahead.

 

And then someone screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who could it be???


	7. Speak and Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silence, it seems, is not as preferable as Lance had thought, and after stumbling upon yet another vaguely familiar face, he’s made more aware of that fact.
> 
> But it’s a small awakening compared to the information he gathers related to the spell Keith is under -  which is sounding more and more like a curse if he’s being honest. And with time quickly running out, Lance begins to wonder if he’ll be able to keep Keith from losing himself, or if the direwolf he’d been fool enough to call beast is simply waiting to be released. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I work long hours in the woods and don't have as much free time to work on writing!

It's harder going through the thicker underbrush as Lance abandons the path to pursue the noise, but his urgency enhances his reflexes, allowing him to dodge the branches and swiftly squeeze through the deciduous thickets.

 

The scream had been short - clipped off abruptly with a heavy silence following - which has Lance dreading why. He knows Keith wouldn't attack anyone, or...at least he  _hopes_ that's not the case. The suitor from clan Kogane _had_ hurled a sword at Lord MacDonal without batting an eye.

 

_But he's not stupid enough to do anything as a wolf, is he?! To hurt someone?_

 

The woods brightens - trees thinning for a small meadow up ahead - and Lance spots Keith from between the brush, tail wagging as he hunches down over something.

 

And Lance pales, recognizing a human arm reaching up to cover a face, and charges into the open as Keith's mouth opens wide and descends.

 

 _“KEITH! Don't eat them!”_ he yells, fearing the worst. But as he witnesses the scene with an unobscured eye, Lance realizes he may have misjudged the situation.

 

Keith is standing over a woman wearing a loose pink dress with bare feet. Her hair is the colour of dried straw and woven with flowers and leaves. She grins as Keith proceeds to lick the side of her face, laughing while Lance gapes in shock.

 

Coupled with the strange interaction unfolding before his eyes, Lance is also thrown off when he recognizes the woman as the wandering bard who played the song to please the fae for the annual hunt. The one called Romelle, though she holds countless other names. It’s rare to encounter her outside of invited events, and few stories exist of travelers crossing her path on the roads and trails.

 

She’s elusive. Mysterious. A bit odd, apparently, which Lance can affirm by watching her giggle at the colossal canine hovering over her. It’s not exactly the reaction he would have expected from anyone, even if Keith were a regular sized wolf.

 

But his confusion is tangled with relief, and he allows himself to exhale properly when he finds nobody hurt. Romelle doesn't appear to have noticed him yet either, despite his yelling, so Lance approaches cautiously, eyeing Keith as the wolf steps back with bright eyes and a dopey smile.

 

“Um...what-” Lance begins, but is cut off as Romelle wipes the side of her face and snorts.

 

“Why hello to you too!” she cheers, sitting up and patting Keith's cheek. “Haven't seen you in a while! How have things been?”

 

Which has Lance even more perplexed.

 

_Who does she think she’s talking to? Surely she doesn’t know it’s really a person in there..._

 

He clears his throat to properly get her attention, and she blinks and waves - looking more shocked to see him than Keith.

 

“Hello to you as well young prince!”

 

Keith barks, tail thumping happily against the ground, which Romelle nods at.

 

“By the flowers, I don't think I've ever seen you so happy to see me. Every time I visited the Kogane Keep you were so dignified and curt - especially as you aged - even though we _all_ know how you really are.”

 

Lance blinks - hearing her address Keith by his family’s name.

 

_How could she possibly know it's him!?_

 

“Or perhaps you were _always_ this happy to see me and just never showed it in person,” Romelle goes on with a coy smile, Keith's head ducking shyly in response. “I guess you've lost your filter now that you're a wolf, am I right?”

 

 _What?!_ Lance balks, watching Keith nod in agreement. _How-???_

 

“You can tell who he is?!” he hears himself blabber, face darkening as the attention turns his way.

 

“Of course!” Romelle shrugs, gesturing over at the direwolf at her side. “I’d recognize this nuisance child anywhere. It’s quite hard to miss that intense red aura.”

 

_...wha-_

 

Romelle suddenly laughs, standing and brushing the dirt from her robes as she glances over his way.

 

“I can sense your confusion, Lance of clan McClain, but perhaps if you asked Keith yourself, you may experience clarification?”

 

“How-” but he breaks off, eyes darting to Keith’s paw where the turquoise stones still rest.

 

_Oh...right._

 

He reaches for his own bracelet, hearing Keith’s thoughts chime into his head, excited and - as Romelle had said - unfiltered.

 

- **_believe I found you! I told you I would find you one day and here we are! You aren’t as sneaky as you think Roms. I knew I’d catch you eventually!_ **

 

“This hardly counts as fair,” Romelle whines, and Lance wavers as she addresses Keith, answering the thoughts as if she’d heard them herself. “The challenge was that you wouldn’t be able to track me _as a human_ , not as a wolf. Your new nose is cheating.”

 

**_Lies! We never specified species when the deal was struck!_ **

 

“It was implied, you weed-brain,” Romelle chuckles, poking his muzzle fondly. “I never anticipated you becoming anything else. You can’t shift as I can.”

 

 ** _And yet, here we are,_** Keith’s voice responds almost smugly, chest out as he lifts his massive head upward. **_The rules were to find you in the wilds before you found me, with nothing mentioned about doing so as a human. I’m a mighty wolf, and I’ve finally won the game._**

 

“No fair!” Romelle chides teasingly. “If I had known _that_ I would have used a much better form to track you down each time we played. You’re bending the rules Kogane!”

 

 ** _Adapting to them, more like,_** Keith laughs, and Lance uses the pause in the conversation to address his growing disorientation.

 

“Hey, can someone please explain _what is going on?!”_

 

They both blink over at him, Romelle grinning and Keith looking rather embarrassed, as if he’d forgotten Lance was even there.

 

 **_Sorry,_ ** he says - voice less shamelessly gleeful. **_Um, this is Romelle._ **

 

“I know that, thanks,” Lance retorts with a huff, crossing his arms over his chest. “What I’d like to know is everything else.”

 

**_Such as?_ **

 

“Such-” Lance cuts short with a noise of frustration, shaking his head at Keith’s confounding lack of perception. “Such as why you ran off out of nowhere? Such as why you pounced on this woman? Such as how you even _know_ her? Such as how she can seemingly understand you?! You maybe wanna start with those?!”

 

Romelle snorts as Keith’s ears flick - nose twitching as he stands.

 

 **_Right. Yes. Of course,_ ** he begins, and then lifts the jeweled paw. **_I told you I would be right back, but you took your stones off so you didn’t hear me. That’s kind of your fault but…_ **

 

“How is that-” but Lance decides not to bother, rolling his eyes instead. “Nevermind. Go on.”

 

**_I didn’t pounce on her, per se-_ **

 

“You _did_ give me quite the startle though,” Romelle adds with a smile. “It’s quite rare to see a wolf these days, much less one so large. But I knew it was you right away.”

 

“How?” Lance asks her, curious and a smidgeon jealous for reasons he ignores, but it’s Keith who answers.

 

 **_Romelle has fae blood in her veins,_ ** he supplies, which Lance had heard rumours of before. It’s an odd detail to verify, but he’s hardly shocked by it. He’s growing used to interacting with myths: magic, direwolves, wisps….and quickly learning it’s better to believe it all rather than sit and doubt the stories. **_You're. ..what,_ ** he turns to her questioningly, **_two-fifths Altean? A quarter?_ **

 

That has Lance pausing, mouth dropping open as his eyes jerk over to Romelle.

 

 _“Altean?!”_ he gasps, but his voice is constrained and high-pitched, and she doesn’t appear to hear his shock as she turns to Keith with a frown.

 

“I’m _half_ Altean, you root-wad,” she chides playfully, and Lance rushes forward with a rekindled hope as she verifies her heritage.

 

“Then you can help us!” he exclaims, pointing over at Keith in case she needs the clarification. “You can change him back! Right?”

 

“Ah,” Romelle hides a giggle, eyeing Keith’s tail calmly. “I _was_ wondering about that. Care to explain what happened?”

 

“Um...right, well-” Lance briefly goes over their predicament, leaving out several details that he deems impertinent to the story. Romelle doesn’t need to know his intentions of changing his fate and avoiding marriage, particularly since she performed for him and his _suitors_ to hunt freely in the woods. He doesn’t want to risk offending her lest she knows some way of helping them.

 

What he _does_ tell her is about Allura, and the tart, and Keith eating it without permission, which has the wolf shying away with his tail between his legs.

 

 **_I was hungry,_ ** Lance hears murmured pathetically in his head, followed by: **_and it wasn't even good._ **

 

He ignores the comments, moving on to explain the cauldron and the messages and the hut exploding around them.

 

“Hmm,” Romelle ponders when he’s done showing her the bracelets Allura had left them, finishing the story up to that point. “I guess I won’t be visiting her today. If only I hadn’t of stopped to help those two young men with their search for Highlanders Bane-”

 

“Wait,” Lance holds up a finger, brows furrowing at her words. “You _know her?!”_

 

“Who?”

 

“ _Allura!”_

 

“Of course!” Romelle’s cheeks turn light pink, ears darkening drastically against her pale yellow hair. “I’ve known her for many years. I was going to bring her some herbs for tea, though it seems I may have missed my chance-”

 

“So you know how to find her?!” Lance interrupts, but Keith lifts his head and takes Romelle’s attention.

 

 **_I didn’t know you knew other Alteans_  **he comments. **_Do you all know each other? Like some kind of-_ **

 

“We’re not Galra, Keith,” she laughs, mentioning an older race of fae that supposedly roamed the lands before the age of men. “We do not share that same connection with each other. But yes, I know other Alteans. Allura is a... _good_ friend of mine.” She trails off, eyes ducking away and leading Lance to suspect ‘friend’ may be an understatement. But he doesn’t bother asking, instead going back to the topic at hand.

 

“Where is Allura now?” he asks urgently, voice strained. “She sort of messed up her spell and we have two- _one_ sunrise,” he amends, and halts as he hears his own words. “Oh Brighid help us, we only have _one day_ to fix this?!”

 

“Be calm, Lance of clan McClain,” Romelle reaches forward, grabbing his shoulders to soothe his heavy breathing. “The bindings on Allura’s spells only take effect the morning after it's been cast, as most of them solve the problems they’d been meant for within a few hours. You have nothing to worry about.”

 

But Lance can’t exactly agree. Though it’s somewhat of a relief to hear they still have two days to sort things out, Keith remains a wolf, and the spell hadn’t been meant for him in the first place. That could mean all _sorts_ of trouble they have yet to stumble into.

 

_How are we even supposed to solve this? I had no problem with Keith aside from his brooding personality, obvious love of wolves over people, and his overzealous marriage proposal. The spell was to change mum and cancel the hunt. It had nothing to do with him at all. What if he can’t be changed back?! What if he gets stuck like this forever!_

 

Romelle must be able to sense his thoughts, as her hand moves to pat his cheek.

 

“Allura’s spells are never mistaken either, young prince,” she whispers, catching his gaze and holding it. “They can be complex, yes, and overlap in ways we may not expect, but she crafts them knowing the exact desires of the one asking for it. We’re Altean, after all. We can easily read the hearts of men.”

 

 **_It’s true,_ ** Keith adds, nudging into her side as his tail wags. **_Roms has always been good at discerning the truth. It landed Shiro and I in trouble several times with Mother though, which she always found hilarious._ **

 

“The fae can’t lie!” she defends with a laugh, sharing some inside joke Lance isn’t privy to. “Not well, at least. And Lady Krolia is not the woman I would want to practice on.”

 

**_Fair enough._ **

 

“That’s _great_ and all,” Lance interrupts, gesturing over to the trees he’d emerged from and pointing in the general direction of Allura’s hut - or the ground it had stood on anyway. “But I don’t need to hear how _amazing_ she is at spellcraft. I need to know how to _fix_ this. To fix _him!_ I don’t want a wolf trailing after me for the rest of my life thanks! _”_ He points over at Keith, who huffs indignantly.

 

**_I’m sure I would find much more fascinating things to do with my time._ **

 

“Like what, howl at the moon? Chase your tail? Get fleas?”

 

Keith shrugs his wolf shoulders, sitting down and raising his head up self-righteously.

 

 **_Sounds more fun than hanging around someone who_ ** **clearly** **_doesn’t enjoy my company._ **

 

“When did I ever say that?!”

 

**_There have been numerous occasions when it was implied._ **

 

“Only because you take things too far!” Lance retorts, tone heating as he stares Keith down. “First the proposal, then the tart, then the _howling-”_

 

“You _proposed?!”_ Romelle’s eyes ignite as she beams over at Keith, but the wolf ignores her as his own brows lower menacingly.

 

 **_You try seeing the moon for the first time through wolf eyes! I had no choice_ ** **but** **_to howl!_ **

 

“Could have held it in. I don’t particularly _care_ for being hunted by my own kin.”

 

 ** _Then you should feel only sympathy to those who are hunted all their lives,_** Keith replies coldly, hackles lifting.

 

“Oh please. How many times have _you_ been chased by men on horseback?!"

 

 **_I was there when it happened!_ ** Keith practically growls. **_And it's not the first time I've been chased, especially from your clan! But you wouldn't know because you never ask!_ **

 

"What's _that_ supposed to mean!?" Lance harrumphs, skin prickling at the mention of his family. "When have they _ever_ gone after you?!"

 

 ** _Oh,_** **now** **_you're curious?! Typical spoiled prince._**

 

“ _S_ _poiled?!_ And why would I _ever_ be curious about a wolf-pacifist like _you-”_

 

“Boys, _boys!_ ” Romelle cuts in, raising her voice to silence their argument. “Enough with the childish banter!"

 

They both fall silent - Lance glaring at the ground and Keith huffing over at the trees. Romelle shakes her head and sighs.

 

"Did Allura leave anything else besides the bracelets?”

 

Lance exhales, folding his arms over his chest as he looks her way to answer the question, ignoring Keith when he does the same.

 

“Just some poem about finding the truth or something.”

 

 **_‘Learn to see past battles old, hearts to change once truths be told.’_ **Keith recites, and Lance nods stiffly when Romelle lifts a brow.

 

“Yeah. That.”

 

“So it was a contractual spell,” she mutters under her breath, folding her arms and resting her chin on her hand. “That complicates matters…”

 

**_Shouldn't have said that-_ **

 

“It _what_ now?!” Lance exclaims, hands tugging his hair at the roots as he interrupts Keith. “How could it get more complicated?! Tell me you're joking!”

 

“But I can't lie…”

 

“Then _you_ help us!” he urges. “You’re Altean, right? You can just... _redo_ her magic! Remedy it. Change this annoyance back so things can return to normal!”

 

 **_How am_ ** **I** **_the annoyance?!_ **

 

“You can do it, right?” Lance finishes, ignoring Keith. He watches Romelle closely, gauging her reaction. But the expression she gives him is not excited or reassuring. She doesn’t nod enthusiastically or say it won’t be a problem. She doesn't pat his head and reassure him all will be well. She doesn't even smile over at Keith to let him know his dog days are almost done.

 

Instead, she frowns sadly - pityingly - and shakes her head, delivering the news Lance had somehow been expecting.

 

“I’m afraid I can’t, no.”

 

“But _why?!”_ he mopes regardless, reaching for her arms and shaking them desperately. “I just need a different spell! One to cancel out Allura’s magic and make things better! You _must_ be able to do _something-”_

 

“It doesn’t work that way,” Romelle explains slowly, glancing down at Lance’s hands on her arms until he releases his grip. He steps back - dumbfounded - as she goes on. “There are many reasons why I can’t help you the way you wish. For one, I am not full Altean. My father was human, and I was raised away from the wilds. Stone walls dampen our powers, so my magic has not fully developed. I doubt it ever will.”

 

_No…._

 

“Secondly, once a spell has been cast, it must reach fruition before another can take effect. Humans especially are only capable of hosting one type of magic at a time.”

 

_No….!_

 

“And thirdly,” Romelle sighs, finally glancing over at Keith. “Contractual spells are the most difficult to break. If they are not fulfilled by the allotted time then the binding becomes permanent, and the soul is forever changed.”

 

A thick silence follows her words - Lance gaping openly and Keith whimpering softly with his ears back. Romelle stares between them both until eventually, Lance finds his voice.

 

“So...you’re saying if we don’t do as Allura said then he’ll-” and he points over at Keith without looking “-stay as a wolf forever?”

 

He feels guilty, but some part of him wonders if that’s even so bad. Keith himself had said he would find ways to enjoy being a wolf, so would it really even matter if he kept the form? Should they even _bother_ trying to solve Allura’s riddle if it’s pointless anyway?

 

_Would it be so bad if we failed?_

 

Romelle suddenly frowns, glancing over at Lance as if - again - sensing his thoughts. He wonders briefly if that’s perhaps one of her gifts, and the reason she’s apparently able to hear Keith as well. But before he can ask she speaks, answering his unspoken questions and confirming his suspicions.

 

“He wouldn’t be the same as he is now, young prince,” she begins, and Keith’s ears twitch upward in confusion at being offhandedly mentioned. “If you do nothing to break the spell he’ll be consumed by the magic, becoming the direwolf he looks to be now. Keith Kogane would be lost, never to return, and you know in your heart what would happen to him.”

 

“I-” Lance tries, but falls short. He wants to inform Romelle that even _if_ two sunrises came and went without their success he would work to keep Keith safe. To prevent any harm from befalling him. But another part of him speaks up - voicing concerns he'd been ignorant in acknowledging. The most prominent is short and to the point: a question that he can't yet answer.

 

_How would I protect him?_

 

His father and the other clansmen detest wolves - make sport of killing them for honour and glory. If Keith changed into the true beast he resembles, losing his ability to communicate as he can now, then it would mean the biggest trophy had just appeared in the lands: a direwolf pelt to adorn the halls of whoever took it down. And despite Lance knowing in his heart that he would do everything in his power to prevent Keith from being killed, he’s more cognizant of his shortcomings. No one takes what he says seriously. No one listens to his warnings or heeds his advice. He’s a prince, sure, but his word means _nothing_ against a king, and less so against the Queen.

 

_Mum would never believe me. She wouldn’t even give me the chance to explain..._

 

He steals a glance over at Keith - at his huge paws and his wide head and those unique eyes that would be void of light should he fail at breaking Allura's spell - and feels himself deflate.

 

_How can I protect you?_

 

“Precisely,” Romelle whispers, either in response to his thoughts or his silence, turning to Keith as Lance stares down at the ground. “You mentioned before that you had no choice when howling at the moon, yes?”

 

 **_I...yeah._ ** Lance can feel Keith's eyes on him, but he keeps his head bowed and his emotions controlled, too stunned by the severity of his realizations to know what more to say. **_It was like some part of me lost control for a second, and I could think of nothing else._ **

 

“That's sort of what I mean,” Romelle explains, tone melancholic. “The more time that passes with you in this form, the less of you there will be to save. To bring back. It’s happened before-”

 

“Then how do we stop it? How do we prevent him from becoming _not_ him?!” Lance interrupts abruptly, mind made up that he won’t sit idly by and watch Keith turn wilder than he already is. As much as he denies them being anything more than acquaintances at best, Lance isn’t heartless enough to give up. He wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt anyways, especially if the clans make a game of finding the direwolf first.

 

 _If only he hadn’t of howled,_ Lance thinks regretfully, despite now knowing that Keith hadn’t had much of a choice. _But now they all know he’s here. They won’t give up until he’s-_

 

 **_We do as Allura said,_ ** Keith’s voice rings in his head - stern and convincing. Lance looks over at him, catching his eyes for the first time since their spat and seeing the determination dazzling bright behind them. **_We see past battles old. Mend hearts with the truth._ **

 

"What truth though?" Lance whispers back, thoroughly unsure. “I don’t understand what she meant by that. All I wanted to change was my mum-”

 

 **_Then perhaps we need to go to her?_ ** Keith suggests, but it doesn’t sit well in Lance’s gut. It feels.. _.wrong,_  almost, though he can’t guess why. So he shakes his head, shoulders sinking to the ground.

 

“No,” is all he says, but when Keith continues to stare waiting for more, he adds on a better explanation. “She won’t listen to me. She barely did _before_ , and I didn’t have a direwolf in my wake. So no, we can’t go to her.”

 

**_What other option do we have? And weren’t you planning on going back to the castle to begin with? Weren’t you going to use the stones to help them know it’s me in here? You can convince her to listen, I know you can! You must-_ **

 

“I can’t!” Lance hollers, cutting Keith’s optimism short. He turns away, blinking rapidly. “I can’t. She’ll only see a monster. Nothing else. And she’ll think I’m in danger, or that I’ve been cursed by the fae. She won’t...I can’t-” he breaks off, voice tilting dangerously into emotions he’d rather keep hidden.

 

He doesn’t hear Keith’s thoughts, or Romelle move, so when a hand lands on his shoulder he’s surprised to find her at his side. She smiles over at him, glancing back at Keith before speaking.

 

“I cannot undo what Allura did,” she says, repeating information Lance had already filed away on his growing list of disappointment. But then her grip tightens, and when Lance looks her way she’s smirking. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t point you in the right direction.”

 

 **_You can help us?_ ** Keith pipes up, tail wagging in cautious hope. **_You know what she meant with her riddle?_ **

 

“Not exactly, no,” Romelle shrugs, turning Lance so he’s facing Keith. “But I’m friends with the beings who can guide you.”

 

And with that she steps back - Lance and Keith exchanging a brief look of uncertainty as a blue light flickers near the woods across from them.

 

“A wisp,” Lance murmurs, unsurprised. “I should have- _HEY!”_

 

He shouts as Keith leaps forward in the direction of the glowing fae, ears back and hackles up as he pounces on the spot the entity had been, though it vanishes before he can make contact.

 

“Keith you giant _fleabag_ ! What are you _doing?!”_

 

But Keith doesn’t appear to be listening, as he jumps at the next wisp that flashes into existence a tree length away.

 

_Morrigan take me, what is his problem with wisps?!_

 

“My friends will lead you where you need to be,” Romelle giggles from behind him. “Take care of each other, and remember to follow your hearts.”

 

“Wait-” Lance calls out in response, but when he turns around to face her he finds himself alone in the meadow - nothing but a passing breeze carrying a few of the flower petals from golden hair to assure him Romelle had been there at all. A shiver runs over his arms as he mutters to himself about the whimsy of Alteans, and then Keith’s bark has him spinning on the spot, just in time to watch a colossal wolf attempt catching a spec of magic.

 

He fails, and the laughter of wisps fills the air around them - Keith stomping his foot as he scans the forest for the next one to appear.

 

“Leave them be,” Lance grumbles as he moves forward, back into the trees where the shade hides from the heat of the day. He catches the dash of blue before Keith does - jumping in front of it as purple eyes narrow in. “They’re trying to _help us!”_

 

 **_I don’t trust them,_ ** Keith’s voice states simply. To the point. Lance sighs at his one-track mind.

 

“And why not? I’ve followed them before and had no issue.”

 

To which Keith raises a brow, staring dubiously at Lance long enough to bring heat to his cheeks.

 

 **_No issue?! Have you_ ** **seen** **_me lately?_ **

 

“Okay, _fine_ ,” Lance grunts as he turns away. “Bad example. But _these_ wisps are friends with Romelle, apparently. You trust her, right?”

 

**_To an extent._ **

 

That throws Lance off, and he glances back to see Keith glaring at the blue orb waiting patiently for them to follow.  

 

“I thought you two knew each other?”

 

 **_We do,_ **is all Keith says, and Lance frowns.

 

“So…?”

 

Those violet eyes land on him, and Lance gulps at the intensity of their gaze, feeling them pierce his skin and burrow deep in the cavity of his chest.

 

 **_I thought you weren’t curious about the life of a wolf-pacifist,_ ** is all he says, and Lance flinches at the severity of the voice. His temper flares briefly - wanting nothing more than to fire back his own sassy retort assuring that he’s _not_ \- but Keith’s words carry a tinge of hurt that leaves stains of guilt over Lance’s conscience.

 

 _I’ve wounded his pride,_ he thinks for a moment, but then amends the statement to a more accurate truth. _No. Not his pride. His feelings._

 

He knows he should apologize, or at the bare minimum say something to let Keith know that he hadn’t meant anything negative by his comments, despite how they sounded, but no combination of words seem to fit. And as he stands struggling in silence, Keith averts his gaze, staring back at the wisp.

 

**_Nevermind. Let’s just go before we lose another sunrise._ **

 

He approaches the blue glowing light - which flickers away to a spot further down a trail Lance doesn’t recognize. He hears no more thoughts as Keith heads deeper into the woods, though he feels it’s not his place to wonder why. Perhaps the boy is just getting better at controlling them, or rebuilding the filter he possessed as a human that Romelle had hinted at. Whatever the case, Lance follows after Keith in silence, holding his tongue as the wisps guide them.

 

An hour passes without conversation, and where before Lance would have found it an enjoyable reprieve, being left with his _own_ thoughts proves more difficult to bear.

 

 _I should just say something. Anything! But I didn’t expect him to be so stubborn! And it’s true anyway! He_ is _a wolf-pacifist! So why did he sound so offended? He had no reason to grow upset,_ one part of him reasons, attempting to make Keith the scapegoat for his regret. It doesn’t work, and Lance only feels worse as the birds sing in the branches above - the forest growing more lively as they go. _Then again, maybe it has nothing to do with what I called him, but rather my behaviour. I haven’t exactly been the friendliest person in the world._

 

He sighs, glancing up at the gap that's grown between them. It had developed primarily as a method to avoid being hit in the face with the branches Keith moves between, but as time slips by, Lance can’t help but wonder if perhaps the space separating them now is more figurative than tactical.

 

Keith doesn’t look back once - head forward and ears drooped but alert. His tail doesn’t wag, instead hanging heavy behind him as Lance stares down at the footprints larger than his hand. He thinks he should brush them away or mask them somehow, but it doesn’t matter much. His father and the other clan leaders already know there’s a wolf in the woods. They’ll be tracking them by now, and with only two days to remedy their situation, Lance begins to sink into melancholic thoughts about what will happen if they can do nothing to change Keith's inevitable fate.

 

 _I’ll need to think of some excuse as to why I’ve been gone, for one_ , he lists, brows furrowing as he thinks. _And then I’ll have to answer questions about the wolf, and why I didn’t return home when I heard the horns blowing. Father will be worried. Mother will be mad. And Keith?_

 

He lifts his eyes, watching as the direwolf weaves between the trunks as the wisps sing softly ahead.

 

_Keith will be lost, and I’ll be to blame. What will I tell Lady Krolia? What reason can I give that her son is gone forever? How will I be able to live knowing the heir of clan Kogane is wandering the wilds under a spell I’d been selfish enough to seek?_

 

Lance swallows thickly, a small voice in his head murmuring something about his misplaced optimism that Keith will survive should they fail. Wolves are a menace - a plague to be cured - and Keith is the biggest one around. He’ll have a target on his back for as long as he’s free, and Lance knows a day will come, no matter how hard he tries to prevent it, where he’ll see that intricate coat of black, grey, and gold hung up on a wall.

 

His feet stop moving - the weight in his chest spreading through his body and rooting him in place - and all at once the silence is too much to handle.

 

“Hey,” he begins, clearing his throat when the word comes out feeble and pathetic. “Keith.”

 

But the wolf continues walking, not even sparing a glance his way. Lance bites the inside of his cheek, fighting the urge to call the boy out on his stubbornness.

 

_It’s my fault, not his. I’ll be the one to apologize first._

 

“Keith!” he tries again, and when he’s still ignored he huffs and continues without waiting for approval to go on. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said. I’m just as confused by all this as you and…” he breaks off, shaking his head. “I shouldn't be looking for excuses for how I’m behaving. I’m a prince. I need to act like one, and that means being more thoughtful towards how you may be feeling. So I’m sorry, and I hope you’ll forgive my selfishness.”

 

He waits - holding his breath as he stares at the ground and anticipates Keith’s thoughts drifting into his head - but there’s no response. No answer. No words of acceptance or refusal or sarcasm to follow his apology.

 

Lance lifts his head, brows lowering in confused impatience, and sees Keith hasn’t even stopped _walking._ He’s a good distance away now, tail barely visible as Lance scoffs and hurries after.

 

 _Wow! I must have_ really _angered him!_

 

“Keith!” he calls out, fists clenching as he fights his annoyance. As _rude_ as Keith is being, Lance knows he has to at least _try_ to be nicer. And that means forgiving any insult he may feel at being scorned. “I said I was sorry! And I don’t want you thinking I don’t care about your life or your story. And I _know_ I haven’t been the warmest to you, and that I’ve blamed you for a lot of the things that have happened, and I’m _sorry!_ It’s _my_ fault! I should be the one facing eternity as a wolf, not you!”

 

Still nothing, and Lance is running after him now.

 

“Hey! Are you even _listening_ to me?!” he shouts, finding it more and more difficult to keep his resolution to be tolerant. “I get that you’re mad at me, but I can’t make things better if you don’t give me the chance!”

 

 _Seriously?!_ Lance grunts when Keith’s ears flick in reply. But that’s all he gets, and his nails bite into his palms as he reaches the end of his rope. _Fine. You’re gonna be like that? Try ignoring_ this!

 

He reaches down, grabbing a small rock to hurl at Keith. It won’t hurt him - not with all that fur - but it _should_ be enough to get his attention. It lands precisely where Lance had been aiming, and he halts when Keith _finally_ comes to a stop.

 

Golden ears lift, hackles rising as the wolf in front of him begins to turn.

 

“Look,” Lance starts to explain when he hears a low growl. “I know you’re angry at me, and I know _why_. I get it. I’ve been a jerk to you. Unfairly so. And-” He trails off as Keith lowers himself to the ground - legs bending and ears flat against the back of his head. He looks menacing.

 

Scary, even.

 

“...you okay?” Lance feels his voice tremble, and then their eyes meet. His chest tightens, breath catching in his throat as he's stared down by a stranger.

 

Because he doesn't _know_ these eyes. They’re no longer purple. No longer bright and friendly. No longer wide and expressive and familiar.

 

No longer _Keith's_.

 

Instead, Lance is caught in dark and dangerous scrutiny, irises thin and almost black, missing the spark that had altered him that this wolf was safe. That this wolf was not a threat. That this wolf was someone he knew and could trust wouldn't hurt him on purpose.

 

But now?

 

Now Lance is filled with horrific apprehension as he's swallowed in the eyes of the monster he'd first feared Keith had become - back when he'd found him alone in that hallway. And as the snarling predator approaches in a low stalk, Romelle's words ring alarmingly in his head, the echo of Keith's howl helping him to understand the situation.

 

 _He's losing himself!_ Lance panics, stepping backward in reaction to Keith moving closer. _This isn't him! This is something else!_

 

Another step, followed by a deep, guttural growl that vibrates the air around them. Lance is drenched in fear - pulse erratic and hands shaking - and suddenly he's falling as his foot catches behind him.

 

It's only a moment, but too much happens to process it all. First, he's weightless as gravity pulls him down. He doesn't scream. Doesn't even gasp. And as he hits the ground the light above darkens as the head of a colossal wolf bears down over him.

 

He sees only daggered teeth. Feels only the hot breath of murderous intent.

 

He's petrified as Keith's face lowers - eyes wide and unblinking as he stares into the once comforting shade of lilac ink, now shadowed and devastatingly feral.

 

And somehow, despite his overwhelming, all-encompassing _fear_ of coming face-to-face with the great beast that haunted his dreams as a child - prowling the stories his mother had been so devoted in telling - Lance finds his voice.

 

"K-Keith-!" he chokes, words broken but clear as his heart threatens to combust. "Keith it's _me!_ And you're _you!_ Come back...don't-"

 

He breaks off as Keith's mouth opens wide - teeth parting to give Lance the altogether unpleasant view of his apparent future - and his eyes squeeze shut as he braces for the worst.

 

 _"Don't hurt me!"_ he hears himself whisper pitifully, some part of him still strong enough to voice the incoherent thoughts running rampant in his head. "Please, _Keith...!"_

 

And all at once the presence above him vanishes - the cooler air of the surrounding woods rushing to fill the place heated breath had brought a chill to his skin. The darkness behind his lids eases, allowing the sun to peek through the branches as the monster moves off of him.

 

Lance hesitantly opens his eyes to see Keith hastily scrambling back - tail between his legs and ears flat at the side of his head. He whimpers, and Lance watches as the shadow over his eyes fades, allowing the familiar purple to shine through.

 

He's given a moment of pure relief, never imagining he'd be so happy to see those eyes again, and then all he can hear is Keith's voice.

 

 **_-was I doing?! That-I didn't!!! I had no control and I just- LANCE!_ ** he practically yells, sinking so low to the ground that his belly scrapes against the dirt. He creeps forward with his brows tilted upward, looking as guilty as his thoughts divulge. **_I'm so sorry!! Are you okay?! Did I...did I hurt you?!? Please, Lance- that wasn't me! I would_ ** **never** **_hurt you! I don't know...I could hear you but I couldn't control my body and I just-_ **

 

"Hey, hey," Lance manages to exhale, own body still trembling in the aftermath of shock. But seeing Keith - _hearing_ Keith - as he’s used to brings so much unexpected comfort that Lance almost _laughs._ "It's alright. I'm okay. You didn't do anything-"

 

 **_But I wanted to…_ ** he hears Keith confess, the thought shamed and muffled. **_For a second, Lance, that's all I wanted to do. I've never been so scared in my life…_ **

 

Lance blinks, and then _does_ laugh - which has Keith staring up at him in mortified bewilderment.

 

“ _You_ were scared? Imagine _me!”_ Lance snorts, emotions swirling and in such disarray that he settles on humour as the coping mechanism. “I thought you were gonna _eat_ me!”

 

 **_I wouldn’t-!_ ** Keith tries, but he frowns when Lance giggles hysterically.

 

“I mean, don’t worry about it. Your breath would have knocked me out first anyway.”

 

That has Keith rising, head tilting to the side as his nose moves back and forth.

 

 **_Are...do you find this funny?! You could have_ ** **died!** **_I wanted to..._ ** **I almost-!** but he breaks off, eyes ducking. Lance makes to stand, finding his knees wobbly and choosing instead to sit for a while longer as he runs a hand through his hair.

 

“It’s not your fault,” he confesses after a moment of deep breathing. Keith glances over but remains quiet as Lance goes on. “That wasn’t you, so don’t worry, okay? I know that wasn’t you.”

 

 **_How can you say that?_ ** Keith whispers back, eyeing him cautiously. **_Why aren’t you mad at me-_ **

 

“Because it solves nothing,” Lance interrupts, using that reasoning to continue into a proper apology, seeing as his last one fell on unhearing ears. He holds Keith’s stare, memorizing those eyes - desperately praying they don’t disappear again - and sighs. “Us fighting...and arguing, and...well, _me_ blaming you for all of this-” he moves his hands around them, gesturing at their surroundings to better show what he means, “-it’s a waste of time. It gets us nowhere. And this whole time I’ve been going on and on about how my life is one huge _mess_ and that my fate is tangled and broken and needs fixing, but I never stopped to contemplate how _you_ might be feeling about all this. I mean, you’re a _wolf_ , for Brighid’s sake! That must be _terrifying!_ And lonely, and confusing and, and _annoying_ , really, having to listen to _me_ complain all the time. I promise I’ll stop. I promise I’ll try my best to fix this. I promise I’ll-”

 

 **_Lance,_ ** Keith interrupts - a fondness in his voice that almost carries a warmth Lance can feel. **_You don’t have to do this-_ **

 

“But I _do!_ ” Lance fires back, shaking his head. “I do, and I _want_ to, because all I’ve been is miserable and rude and uncaring towards you. I never thanked you for protecting me from the explosion, or keeping me warm during the night. I’ve made assumptions on your character that you’ve proven to be wrong _multiple_ times, and I know how damaging that can be to a person, and how much I hate when it happens to me.”

 

**_Lance-_ **

 

“And worst of all, Keith, is that I haven’t _listened_ to you,” he goes on, ironically proving his point as he cuts the boy off. But Keith doesn’t seem to mind, ears perking at the sound of his name. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted - the reason I went out into the wilds at night and struck a bargain with the fae. I wanted my mother to listen to me, so she could understand my thoughts and feelings and actions..and here I am - the hypocrite - waving off your words without truly _hearing_ them.”

 

 **_Are you saying all this because I nearly ate you?_ ** Keith laughs, though it’s an awkward, almost _nervous_ sound that Lance hears tinge his voice. **_I didn’t mean to scare you into complacency-_ **

 

“No, I’m not,” Lance cuts him off, perturbed that his actions _now_ seem more unrealistic than how he was behaving before.

 

_What sort of impression have I given him to think my worst self is the usual?! What kind of prince am I turning into..._

 

So he stands - unstable at first but finding his footing well enough - and then bends at the hip, bowing deeply towards Keith as the wolf gapes at him in alarm.

 

“I sincerely apologize for how I’ve been acting, Keith of clan Kogane, and I dearly hope you can forgive me my inconsideration.”

 

Keith is silent for a long moment - so much so that Lance is almost _certain_ he’s gone again, replaced by the wild animal he’d seen only minutes before. But then something wet touches the top of his head, and he rises to find Keith’s face inches from his own - nose twitching slightly from having pressed into Lance’s hair.

 

**_Thank you, Lance, for saying that. I’d almost given up on you._ **

 

 _...huh?_ Lance pauses, brows furrowing as he watches Keith _grin._ But he doesn’t pursue the matter, thinking it might lead to them bickering if he does. So instead he smiles back with a nod, brushing dirt from his cloak to give himself a distraction from Keith’s gaze.

 

“Right. Good,” he coughs once, heat rising in his cheeks as those eyes remained glued to his face. “We should keep going then, yeah?”

 

Keith only nods, waiting for Lance to lead the way as he turns back towards the trail of wisps. They walk in silence for a few minutes, and then Lance hears a soft hum vibrate through his thoughts.

 

 **_I grew up with her,_ ** he begins slowly, and Lance squints over at the wolf at his side, dodging a branch as Keith elaborates. **_Romelle. You asked before how we knew one another._ **

 

“Oh, right,” Lance murmurs, recalling the curt response he'd been given at the time. He’s oddly consoled that Keith is choosing to tell him the rest of that story now, giving him some much-needed proof that his apology had been taken seriously. “Are you related?”

 

 **_No,_ ** Keith chuckles, blinking as the wisp that had been in front of them reappears a few feet further ahead. **_Her father was a wandering trader who would often stop by our home during the long winter months. Shiro and I would play by the fire with Romelle and her brother while our parents exchanged tidings, and every few months they would return with stories of the lands they had traveled._ **

 

“That sounds like fun,” Lance remarks almost enviously. He’d grown up alone for the most part, until his sisters came along. And sure, he’d been friends with the local children in the villages around the castle, but as they’d aged they’d been made aware of who he was. A prince, they’d been told, was not someone to invite to play childish games with. He was too busy, too _important,_  for such nonsense.

 

And so the local children had grown distant and shy, and that’s when Lance had discovered archery. He'd devoted himself to it. Let it take up his spare time. So when the sounds of joy and freedom of kids playing echoed over the walls separating them, Lance would draw back the bowstring and aim. Every shot - every thud in the target - became his version of fun, until he no longer heard the laughter from the local children.

 

But he keeps those thoughts to himself, not wanting to deter Keith from telling the rest of his story.

 

 **_It was, yeah,_ ** the boy admits, oblivious to the loneliness Lance had endured. **_But once her powers manifested our games became more...interesting._ **

 

“Meaning?”

 

Keith snorts, reminiscing, and then lets Lance in on the joke.

 

 **_Well, even as half-human Romelle could shift into other forms. She loved having wings the best - told us flying was the best sensation in the world._ ** Keith rolls his eyes, glancing over with an uncanny wink. **_She never ran as a direwolf though._ **

 

"You think that's better?" Lance asks, biting back a grin as he remembers how it had felt.

 

 **_Maybe I'm a bit biased,_ ** Keith shrugs. **_But it's pretty amazing, right?_ **

 

Lance doesn't answer, not giving Keith the satisfaction of knowing how much he agrees. It's unnecessary anyway, seeing as the wolf grunts and chuckles knowingly.

 

**_Don't worry, I won't tell anyone how much you enjoyed it. Your secret is safe with me._ **

 

"I-" but Lance settles on a smile, shaking his head at Keith's intuition and odd, persistent charm.

 

 **_Anyways,_ ** the boy continues, **_one time she appeared at my window as a large raven, tapping on the glass in the dead of night. And when I opened it she stared me down and screamed! A_ ** **human** **_scream! Coming from a beak! Nearly scared me half to death._ **

 

“I didn’t take you as someone who scares easily,” Lance feels his smile grow as Keith harrumphs, tail sinking as his brows lower.

 

**_I don’t! But I was ten at the time! Anyone would have been frightened!_ **

 

“Of a bird?” Lance jests. “And here I thought you were so brave.”

 

 **_I am-!_ ** But Keith breaks off suddenly, head jerking over to Lance. **_Wait, you think I’m brave?_ **

 

Lance chokes, face darkening as Keith’s eyes widen comically.

 

“I- no!” he tries, waving him off. “I meant only that...well you-it’s a _bird!_ And you’re all-I don’t know... _grizzled_ and-” but he gives up, sighing loudly as he changes the topic and hopes the flush in his cheeks isn’t as noticeable as it feels. “You said you only trusted her to an extent. Care to elaborate on that?”

 

Keith watches him for a moment longer, expression giddy yet calculating, as if wanting very much to linger on the current conversation, but he's gracious and allows the diversion. His gaze drops, tail swaying lethargically back and forth as he answers.

 

**_Yeah. I mean, I trust her only because I know she means well, but she’s a tad...naive? I guess? With her magic. She doesn’t know how powerful she can be at times, and it’s gotten Shiro and myself in trouble more times than I can count._ **

 

Lance grunts in reply, latching onto yet another detail of Keith's life. It's like he's preparing a tapestry - as he'd seen his mother do on many occasions - and the first lesson she'd made sure to teach him was to gather his thread. Know the story before weaving it, or something like that. He'd never paid much attention to her words before, and he wonders how much advice he's passed off as boring lectures, forgetting them the moment they were spoken.

 

 _And here I am, convinced_ she's _the one who doesn't listen. Perhaps that spell had been meant for me after all._

 

 **_Something wrong?_ ** Keith asks suddenly, and Lance brushes off the concern.

 

“Just thinking. You talk about Shiro often, but he’s not your brother, right?”

 

Keith shakes his head, eyes fond as he stares ahead.

 

**_He may as well be. We were raised together, and he’s been with me my entire life._ **

 

“And why do you call him ‘Shiro’?” Lance continues, thinking back to his knowledge of the minor families. There are many: each falling under the banner of one of the four main clans, though their tartans can differ. And though Lance hadn't been paying attention at the time, he's almost _certain_ the man had been wearing the added lines of white in his kilt to symbolize a separate house from the Koganes. “I thought he was a Shirogane, so why-”

 

 **_He is,_ ** Keith affirms. **_But everyone just calls him Shiro because he’s the last of that line. His parents were killed before I was born. Shipwrecked off the coasts during a storm._ **

 

“Oh,” Lance murmurs in remorse, bowing his head. “I’m sorry.”

 

 **_He’d appreciate that,_ ** Keith goes on, grunting as he jumps over a fallen log. **_But it was a long time ago, and my parents took him in as their own, so he was never without love._ **

 

“That’s good to hear.”

 

**_And he knew exactly what I was feeling when I lost my own father. I would have been inconsolable had Shiro not helped me through it._ **

 

Lance swallows thickly, recalling the raven that had been sent to his parents the day Cameron of clan Kogane had perished. A fire had broken out in one of the villages near the mountains - unrelated to the tensions around wolves that had been going on at the time - and he had succumbed to the smoke after rescuing as many people as he could. It had been a solemn month in which the fighting between the clans had ceased to mourn the loss of a great leader. And when Lady Krolia had taken charge of the Koganes, the treaty had been signed not long after.

 

It’s strange to think their people had only known peace for a short time, and Lance considers himself fortunate that he’d been only young when the battles were fought. But when he glances over at Keith he also counts his blessings that his parents are both alive and well, feeling unsurprisingly guilty for having taken that fact for granted.

 

As obnoxious as he can find his father and overbearing as he knows his mother to be, at least they’re _here_ , with him. Around if he needs their advice or comfort. He can’t even _begin_ to fathom what it would be like if one of them died.

 

 _Poor Keith,_ he thinks as his empathy heightens. _And to think he’s still here, tolerating my presence after hearing how I wished to change mum. I wonder how many times he cursed me for being so insensitive. So careless. I’m just as he said: a spoiled prince-_

 

 ** _I can practically hear you overthinking,_** Keith suddenly laughs, startling Lance out of his admonishings. **_Don’t pity me, please. I came to terms with how things are long ago. And as I said, Shiro’s always been there for me._** **_Well,_** and he frowns, ears darting back as he huffs, ** _except for the past few months. He’s been a tad_** **too** ** _interested in visiting the east to pay me much mind._**

 

“The east?” Lance repeats, pulling forth a map of the land from memory. There’s nothing to the east of the Northern Spurs save for snow-covered mountains, unless Keith means a more _central_ east, which would mean: “the Somerisles?”

 

Keith’s head ducks, but Lance catches the flinch in his otherwise fluid movement - an expression of guilt crossing wolfish features at Lance’s guess.

 

 **_The- no! Not there...Of course not! Why would he go_ ** **there** **_of all places?! What a silly thing to say. Shiro would_ ** **never** **_go- he was doing...something else. Somewhere else. With someone else…_ **He trails off, and Lance is certain that if wolves could blush Keith would be redder than the tartan of his clan.

 

It would be easy to admit that he already knows of the affections Shiro and Adam MacDonal share - having witnessed them firsthand - but he holds his tongue and smirks, choosing instead to tease.

 

“Are you, by any chance, part Altean?”

 

 **_What?_ ** Keith blinks. **_No! Why?_ **

 

“Because you’re a terrible liar.”

 

 **_Wh-hey!_ ** Keith whines,  tail wagging now as he catches onto Lance’s antics. **_I’m an_ ** **excellent** **_liar!_ **

 

“Is that really something to boast about?”

 

 **_It is when I have such few opportunities to brag,_ ** Keith retorts, words witty and light. Lance can almost picture the human expression that would accompany them. **_I’ve told you before that I’m multidimensional, yes?_ **

 

“So you’re a warrior, a gentleman, and now a liar? Sounds like the beginning of a joke, does it not?”

 

 **_Oh? Care to try-_ ** but he’s cut short as he stumbles over a root with a rather tawdry curse, which has Lance abruptly laughing as he watches the giant wolf fumble over his paws and painstakingly right himself before attempting dignity. Or so Lance thinks, but what Keith says instead has him blushing in embarrassment. **_You have a nice laugh, Lance. I wouldn’t mind hearing it more._ **

 

 _Brighid help me!_ Lance nearly trips himself, but Keith doesn’t notice - continuing on as if unaware of how amorous his tone had been. _Does he know what he just said?!_

 

But before he can linger on the comment, a cold chill spreads down along his arms, and when Lance lifts his head to see what might have brought it on, he finds the wisps have vanished.

 

“Um...Keith?”

 

**_Yeah?_ **

 

Lance points to where the sentient blue orbs had been, or where he’d _assumed_ them to be, realizing now that he’d been following the wolf more than anything.

 

“Where are we?”

 

Keith pauses, eyes darting around their unfamiliar surroundings.

 

 **_I thought_ ** **you** **_knew!_ **

 

“How would- Weren’t you following the wisps?!”

 

 **_Weren’t you??_ ** Keith retorts, tone growing anxious as they both come to a similar understanding. They’re lost, and their guides have abandoned them.

 

“This isn’t good,” Lance mutters to himself, hands clenching at his sides as he scans the woods. It’s different from what he remembers - more open and lush, with vibrant green moss that blankets the earth and trees. The air is also lighter, _sweeter_ , and it makes Lance’s head spin. Or perhaps that’s just the disorientation that accompanies hysteria, made worse when he spots tendrils of mist begin to coil around the trunks towards them.

 

“Not good!” he yelps, pointing at the quickly approaching fingers that bring back ominous memories of his first visit to Allura. “We have to go-”

 

He bumps into something solid, whipping around to find Keith pressed against him protectively. And this time Lance doesn’t back away, instead moving his hands so they press into the warmth of thick fur.

 

 **_What are they?_ ** He hears Keith ask, nose twitching as he tries to smell the air and learn more of what’s hastily approaching. **_Why do they look like hands-_ **

 

Lance skrieks, feeling something wrap around his ankle. He takes off running without bothering to inspect what it had been - Keith right behind him - and the mist pursues. It’s unpredictably fast, darting over the ground towards them from all directions. They’re soon surrounded, and before Lance can even open his mouth to call for help they’re devoured by it.

 

His eyes squeeze shut - arms raised to cover his head as Keith moves to defend him - but there’s nothing they can do. The world is a swirling grey mass, devoid of colour and sound and smell and direction.

 

Lance’s mind is a panicked mess, and Keith’s thoughts are no better. He thinks he might hear his named yelled, but can’t reciprocate the call. There’s a buzzing in the air now, and it drowns everything out in a blur of chaos that has him wrapping his arms around Keith’s in desperation. Because at _least_ he’s not alone in this. At least he can _feel_ the bristly hair against his palms give way to a softer coat beneath. At least he has Keith _next_ to him, _beside_ him, _with_ _him_ , as the mist claims it’s prize.

 

 _Never trust the fae!_ Lance hears in useless warning - the last cognizant sentence to echo in his head right before the world stills. Just like that. Just like before. But no less abrupt.

 

He opens his eyes - finding his face pressed tight into the side of Keith’s neck - and takes an unsteady breath in as a crow caws from somewhere nearby.

 

 **_Are you okay?_ ** Keith’s question finds its way into his thoughts, and Lance nods in reply, not yet trusting his voice. Some part of him is touched that he’s Keith’s first concern even after all that, but he doesn’t linger on it. There are much more pressing matters to deliberate.

 

“Fine, yeah,” he mutters after a pause, stepping away and blinking at the change in light. It’s darker than he remembers - their surroundings hazy and dull compared to the saturation of the forest they’d just been in. But as Lance’s eyes adjust he quickly realizes why.

 

The mist that had engulfed them lingers as a heavy fog in the distance, shrouding the landscape and absorbing the heat of the day. He draws his cloak closer to himself to ward off the drastic drop in temperature and shuffles shamelessly closer to the wolf at his side.

 

 **_This isn’t good,_ ** Keith suddenly announces, and Lance snorts, though it lacks humour.

 

“Didn’t I just say that?” he remarks, rubbing his eyes now as he tries to recognize anything familiar. But it's futile. The trees are shaggier, rougher. The plants have more twigs than foliage. The ground is hard beneath his feet, and when he looks down he sees rock and pale lichen - a combination uncommon in the rolling hills of his homeland. “I have no idea where we are…”

 

He expects Keith to react with confusion, maybe even outrage, but instead he gets a calm answer. A resolute few words that do  _very_ little to soothe Lance’s woes.

 

 **_I do,_ ** he states, voice monotone but daunting. **_I know this place._ **

 

“You do? Where-” but Lance breaks off, shivering as a cold wind ruffles his clothing. It carries an uncharacteristic bite given it’s the middle of summer, but there’s no ignoring the icy nip that dances across his skin. He stares over at Keith, but the wolf isn’t looking his way. His gaze is focused on something beyond the gnarled trees and barren outcroppings, towards the place the fog masks - the sound of waves crashing against rock reaching their ears.

 

 _Is that the ocean?!_ Lance thinks in shock, knowing they should be nowhere _near_ the coastlines. They’d been in the Highlands! The nearest open water is _days_ away, not mere hours! But there’s no denying what he hears, and Lance can practically _taste_ the salt in the air as angry waves pummel the beach that inevitably lies below them.

 

“Keith?” He turns when his questions remain unanswered, reaching a hand out to nudge into the wolf's side. But before it can land, Keith stiffens, finally looking over with a shaky sigh.

 

**_We’re at the Shards._ **

 

“The- the _Shards?!_ ” Lance gasps, incredulous. “There’s no way! The Shards are in the Northern Spurs, beyond the Altea Range! How is it possible that we _walked_ _through the mountains_ without realizing it!”

 

But even as he speaks his denial out loud, Lance knows that Keith isn’t lying. He’s terrible at it anyway, and as the wind continues to gust, the fog begins to clear. A ray of light pierces through from above, though it rests closer to the horizon than Lance would have expected.

 

_How much time has passed?! How is it already sundown!_

 

But he doesn’t get to voice those questions, as Keith moves his head to gaze back out at the black water. Lance follows suit, gasping when he sees what appears to be several islands of variable size emerge from the grey mists, looking ragged and worn and vacant. A chill runs down his spine despite the gales having passed, and Lance subconsciously moves closer to Keith’s warmth.

 

 **_Welcome,_ ** he hears whispered tentatively, almost _fearfully,_ **_to the forbidden Keep. To the cursed homelands. To the place the wolves won’t wander._ **

 

Lance inhales sharply, hearing the wind howl in the distance, blowing the remaining fog away to reveal the broken splendor of a castle ages old staring out at the lands around them. His hand finds its way back to Keith’s neck, where his fingers curl tight into fur in an effort to bring comfort. It only helps a bit.

 

 **_Welcome, Lance,_ ** Keith speaks with a hesitant breath - disbelief ripe in this tone - **_to the Isles of Kon._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More cliffhangers. To make Rick Riordan proud.


	8. The Isles of Kon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History is burdened by lies. Legends are laced with truths. And it's the ones who survive who get to tell the tale.
> 
> But one way or another, the stories always come back to wolves. 
> 
> Only, this time, Lance feels he can better understand why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. Work again. Also I'll be at a field camp for a few weeks so the next update will be a minute...
> 
> Apologies!

Lance is speechless for a solid thirty seconds - mouth moving but no words coming forth. He stares out at the islands slowly being overtaken by the shadow of dusk as the sun lowers into the ocean, searching for any way to discount Keith's suspicions.

 

"How-" he manages, and when no thoughts echo in his head with a clear, verifiable answer, he finds it in him to add on. "How is that _possible?!_ The Isles of _Kon_?!"

 

It's an old name not often mentioned - even in books - having been erased from most histories and rewritten as the Shards. But Lance recognizes it well enough from the stories his mother had told - most recently from the excuse she had given to justify his marriage - and in the lessons he was taught about their land.

 

The legendary folly of a prince who married for love and was punished for it and the kingdom that had fallen as the other clans turned a blind eye.

 

It's not the most inspiring of ballads, if Lance recalls correctly, though he can't deny its tragedy. He shivers in the silence of the night, and Keith finally glances over.

 

**_Are you familiar with the tale?_ **

 

Lance nods after a moment.

 

"I know that it was Zar of clan Kon who lived here, and that he went mad trying to avenge the deaths of his wife and son when they were killed by wolves," he explains briefly, staring unblinkingly forward as he recites what his mother had said. But when Keith grunts in disagreement Lance turns his way, swallowed in dark merlot eyes.

 

**_Killed by wolves? Who told you that?_ **

 

"My mother?" Lance answers, just as questioningly. "But that's how the story goes. Every child hears it at one point in their life, either as a lesson to respect the other families or as a caution about the horrible beasts-" he breaks off, clearing his throat to alter his statement. "Well, to warn against what they don't understand."

 

Keith hums skeptically, returning his gaze to the water.

 

 ** _I guess I should have expected that,_** he begins thoughtfully - almost _sadly._ ** _But the 'horrible beasts' in your version of the story are not the same as in mine._**

 

He sighs deeply then, turning away from the cliff on which they stand before heading towards a path that will take them down to the shore.

 

"Where are you going?" Lance asks, already following. Keith doesn't answer his question though, instead continuing his previous line of thought.

 

 **_Zar of clan Kon was a kind ruler,_ ** he recounts, and Lance listens intently to the story he thinks he knows. **_He had many friends, both human and not, and the land prospered with him wearing the crown. All were content to know their lives rested in his hands._ **

 

Keith tilts his head, keeping the islands in view as they skirt down the small rocky knolls.

 

**_However, a day came when he met a fae woman on his travels in the farthest reaches of the Spurs. She was Altean, though he didn't know it at the time._ **

 

 _Another Altean?_ Lance thinks, but doesn't interrupt. Keith has a melodic voice made for monologuing, and his somber tone is exemplified by the sounds of the ocean below.

 

 **_See,_ ** he continues slowly, guiding Lance over the rocks as the waves grow louder and begin to coat the surfaces on which they walk, **_it was not a woman he first met in the far north, but rather a beautiful, white direwolf. She blended in with the snow. Walked upon it without sinking through. Her eyes were amber and intelligent - her coat never dirty or soiled. She was a splendor to behold, and he made it his quest to tame her._ **

 

"I thought taming wolves was forbidden in your lands?" Lance voices without meaning to. He'd wanted to stay quiet, but it's common knowledge that the families north of the Altea Range frowned upon keeping the beasts as pets. It was always a custom Lance could agree with, seeing as having such an animal standing guard at the foot of his bed was never something he wished for - sounding more like a nightmare than anything. But to hear that wolves were actively sought for taming? Nowhere in the histories is that mentioned.

 

Keith hums with clipped humour, though it doesn't mask his own discontented opinion on the matter - clearly opposed to the concept as well.

 

 **_It_ ** **is** **_forbidden,_ ** he explains gruffly. **_But it was a different time. Wolves were also more common than they are today - direwolves even more so -  and taming them was a practice reserved by the older families to show prowess and skill outside of hunting and battle._ ** He shakes his massive head and frowns, turning to stare at Lance as his words are projected as thoughts. **_There used to be ceremonies not unlike the one for your hand, where great gatherings would be held to showcase the level of obedience tamed wolves had learned. It often ended in bloodshed, however, and was discontinued in the years following the fall of the Kon clan._ **

 

"'Bloodshed'?" Lance repeats, and Keith nods.

 

 ** _Wolves are meant to be free._** **_They're wild for a reason._**

 

 _So the Northerners weren't always wolf-pacifists,_ Lance learns in genuine surprise. _And here I thought that was their default. Their ancestry. What else have I been taught that's differed from the truth?_

 

 **_Zar tried many ways to tame the white direwolf he had found,_ ** Keith continues after a pause, drawing Lance's attention back to the story. **_He tried baiting her with food, trapping her in cages, and even attempted bribery consisting of gold and jewels of the rarest assortment._ **

 

"Alteans do like shiny things," Lance comments under his breath, recalling how Allura's eyes had shone at the mere mention of such treasures.

 

 **_Perhaps,_ ** Keith chuckles, likely thinking of Romelle, **_and she was amused with his seemingly childish efforts at first. But as time wore on she grew more aware of his devotion - of his intent - and on the longest night during the worst blizzard of the season, she revealed herself to him, and the two fell in love._ **

 

 _Sounds romantic,_ Lance sighs to himself, wondering where his mother’s version of the story differs. He likes Keith's telling better already, though he doubts he would ever fall in love with a wolf as Zar of clan Kon had. _And imagine his fright upon seeing her turn human before his eyes!_

 

 _Well, actually I_ can _imagine,_ Lance realizes, side-eyeing Keith, _only in reverse._

 

And as he watches Keith he wonders what happened in the space between the first meeting of the Altean and the prince leading up to them falling in love. The details were skipped in Keith’s version, but Lance can’t help and wonder what it must have been like. Did they look into each other's eyes and know in their hearts it was meant to be, or did it take time? Did it require patience, and effort, and small moments of accumulated fondness before they were sure of their feelings?

 

He _almost_ wants to ask Keith what he knows of _that_ side of the story, or if the tale simply goes as said: the two fell in love, and that was that.

 

 _Why is the process of falling for another always skipped?_ Lance gripes silently. _That's the part I'm interested in the most! That’s the part I want to understand!_

 

 **_Zar was smitten with the Altean - Honerva as she was called - who had captured his heart,_ ** Keith goes on poetically, oblivious to Lance's frustrations with the lack of detail where his curiosity is piqued, **_but the people of the land were not as pleased. They were untrusting of the fae - especially when she roamed around freely in her direwolf form. It was thought unnatural. Wrong. It was considered offensive and a mockery to those who tamed wolves for a living - seeing one wander without restraints by their beloved royal leader._ **

 

**_They began stating she had bewitched their prince to love her, despite him informing them otherwise. She became a scapegoat for their troubles: a cause for their poor fate._ **

 

**_If a child fell ill, she was blamed for their passing. If the crops failed when the rain would not fall, fingers were pointed her way. If a sheep was killed, or a herd attacked, everyone would agree that the wolf had been white, with eyes of liquid gold._ **

 

"That's awful," Lance admits, swallowing thickly as he tries to imagine how that must have felt. To be the target of all that animosity. To be hated so much for no reason at all. To be made accountable for every misfortune without any convincing evidence. “And completely unfair.”

 

 **_It was, yeah,_ ** Keith agrees softly, voice strained by withheld emotion. **_And it grew to a point where she wished to return to her homeland, but Zar pleaded that she stay. He reminded her that he was a prince. He held the respect of the people. He could protect her from the words of the petty few._ **

 

 **_And he loved her. He_ ** **needed** **_her. So she stayed, but no longer wandered the lands as a direwolf._ **

 

 _She gave up her freedom,_ some part of Lance whispers, and he stares down at his feet as they finally reach the sand. _But she did it for love, not duty...she chose him, but at what cost?_

 

 **_They were married, and for a time things went well,_ ** Keith comes to a stop, staring out at the islands where the ruins are now shadows against an orange and pink sky. **_But when the news spread that she had borne a son - in line to be king after Zar - the people of the land grew restless. They all agreed they would not follow a ruler with fae blood, and with the child refusing to shift into anything aside from a wolf pup, Honerva was forced to return to her roots as well. The castle now had two white direwolves roaming freely, and the people were outraged once again._ **

 

**_Several clan leaders met with Zar to address the concerns of the common folk, but to their dismay, he would not agree to leave the Altean and their mixed-blood child. So they offered their own as substitutes - told him he could marry into any of the families so long as they were human, but the prince refused. He loved Honerva and his son - regardless of what form they chose - and demanded the clan leaders to cease their nonsense at once lest consequence follow._ **

 

"Well, at least he was true to his heart," Lance points out, but Keith only sighs.

 

 **_He was, yes, but his faith in his people was too strong. He thought they would listen and obey - as they had always done - but he underestimated their unhappiness. And consequences_ ** **did** **_follow, but they were not of Zar’s doing._ **

 

The sun is threatening to dip below the waves, changing the sky to a dark navy-maroon as the first stars flicker into sight. It’s a beautiful scene, but Lance can hardly appreciate it. His thoughts are elsewhere - eyes glued to the blackened stones that were once a wall surrounding the main island where Zar had lived. Keith is silent for a long moment, but Lance doesn’t prod him into finishing the story. He will on his own time, though Lance is almost certain now of how it ends.

 

The wolf at his side finally lowers his head, staring down at the pawprints he’d left in the sand as the waves reach closer to where they stand.  

 

 **_A night came when Honerva and the child did not return to the castle after being out hunting,_ ** he almost whispers - Lance holding his breath as he waits for confirmation of his predictions. **_Zar didn’t think much of it at first, until the next morning came and his family was still missing. He sent out men to search, but when each returned empty-handed he went out himself. Several days passed, and eventually, they were found._ **

 

He turns to Lance, eyes wide and watery, with a voice burdened by hesitation as he continues his version of the tale.

 

 **_In the story you know, the mother and son were killed by wolves. But in mine, they were killed_ ** **as** **_wolves, by humans. Zar found them alone in the wilds - the snow around their bodies stained bright red. It was the only time he’d seen their fur as anything but white._ **

 

“Brighid be blessed,” Lance exhales in shock, holding Keith’s gaze even as it drops away.

 

**_He was outraged. Tormented. Heartbroken. And he devoted himself entirely to finding the ones who had murdered them. However, his people - though saddened by the grief of their prince - were hesitant to help. Turning in their own for the deaths of a few fae had them withholding information, refusing to pursue the matter, and urging their leader to consider this a blessing. Now he could take a proper wife...produce a more fitting heir. And besides, what were two wolves in exchange for human lives? Who was more worthy of life, in the end?_ **

 

Lance swallows thickly, biting his tongue as Keith’s words grind against his core like stone on steel, blinking rapidly as the conflicting teachings of his entire life crash against their truth. He feels like the isles perched empty in the ocean before them - unrelenting waves of realization wearing away at the walls of ignorance he’d unknowingly built.

 

 _To think they had such little concern for lives that were not their own._ And he glances over at Keith’s wolf form silhouetted by the ever-brightening moon, a light salty breeze weaving through motley fur. _To think we still do…_

 

**_Zar’s anguish quickly turned to anger, and he swore to kill any who dared hunt or tame another wolf, stating that the intolerance of men towards other beings had grown too righteous. Hundreds perished - oftentimes without proper justification - and his people grew fearful. They fled, turning south beyond the mountains for refuge, abandoning their homes and their names. Few stayed, vowing to obey Zar’s demands to harm no wolves, but even they could do nothing to prevent his downward spiral._ **

 

**_With his people fleeing and former allies becoming enemies, clan Kon descended into war. He fought any who tried to oppose him, and it got to the point where even his most trusted friends were forced to leave._ **

 

**_But still he fought. And it was a year or so of relentless killing - so much so that it’s said the waters were stained red for a decade after, like pure wine had replaced the tides to dye the sand crimson. Zar fought until there was no one foolish enough to come near the isles. No one could reason with him. No one could defeat him. No one could stop him. So they left, and hid, and prayed to whatever gods they knew that peace would return to the land._ **

 

**_The prince was alone, and when he finally realized this it was too late to change. The stench of death was a thick fog lingering in the air around the towers of his home. No birds sang in the branches of the willows. No ravens perched on the walls overlooking the ocean. No wolves howled from the rocky cliffs, competing with the tide for the attention of the moon._ **

 

**_There was nothing but a cold emptiness that echoed the shell of the man who had lost it all, and when there was no one left to blame, the weight of responsibility fell inward. It was his fault. All of it. And he died regretting ever falling in love, retreating to his castle to fade away from memory._ **

 

“His wails of anguish eerily similar to the howling of wolves,” Lance finishes, recalling the words of his mother. Keith’s ears twitch, frowning slightly, but he doesn’t comment.

 

 ** _The direwolves gathered not long after his passing,_** he says instead, **_forming packs large enough to conquer cities._** **_Some say it was a curse of the fae to carry on what Zar had started. Others believed that it was Honerva herself leading them all - or else her son - having not died as previously thought. But no white direwolves were ever seen, and the laws Zar had passed about not killing wolves were soon forgotten in order to deal with the escalating attacks._**

 

“Ah yes,” Lance hums without humour. “And with them came the rise of mighty Mac Tíre: the red-eyed demon direwolf with daggers for teeth. Yet _another_ tall tale to send the young'uns to bed.”

 

He means to be sarcastic about the matter - poke fun of the legendary monster that plays the role of evil in the stories his sisters fear. But as the words leave his mouth, Lance feels as if he shouldn't speak the name of the ancient direwolf so loud. Something in the air around him warns against it. Some chill down his spine. Some breath by his ear.

 

He knows Mac Tíre as a myth, but here it could be real. Here it could be lurking, watching.

 

Waiting.

 

 _No wonder mum spoke of the beast with such conviction,_ he recalls with a nervous glance around them _. A giant man-eating wolf seems more plausible on this side of the mountains._

 

 ** _Tale or not,_** Keith grunts in response to the regretful musings, **_the direwolves were nearly hunted to extinction. Only a few people today in the farthest villages of the Spurs claim to have seen one, but those stories are always met with doubt. The species was thought to be gone. Even_** **I** ** _was convinced they were fable. Well...until-_**

 

“Until _this?_ ” Lance supplies - gesturing to Keith’s new form - and the wolf nods with a huff.

 

 **_Until this. But it hardly counts. It’s not like I’m a_ ** **real** **_direwolf or anything._ **

 

 _Yet…_ some pessimistic part of Lance mutters, recalling what Romelle had warned about Keith losing himself, but he pushes it away. _I can’t afford to think like that._

 

“So in the end, nothing mattered,” he sighs instead, rubbing his arm as the sun finally sets. A bright twilight illuminates the ground - sand glistening like tiny diamonds under the light of the moon. "Nothing changed."

 

Keith makes a noise of agreement, sounding like a soft whine.

 

**_It would seem that way, yes. The Isles of Kon became the Shards, and everyone chose to forget. Wolves are still killed - still blamed - fae are still feared, and ignorance is still ripe in the hearts of many. But no one comes here anymore. The ground is said to be cursed, and even the ocean hides the path to the castle for most of the day._ **

 

He shakes then - as if addressing a shiver Lance can’t feel - and turns away from the islands.

 

**_We shouldn’t stay here any longer. Not after dark._ **

 

He begins walking down the beach, turning into the woods where the land flattens and the trees meet the sand. It’s warmer within the trunks, though Lance doesn’t stray far from Keith’s side when his excuse of being cold fades. In fact, when he glances behind them - catching sight of the ruined towers that had hosted so much woe - he moves closer to the direwolf, electing to blame the narrow path should Keith ask.

 

“I had no idea,” he murmurs after a pause, exhaling in relief when a branch blocks his view of the isles. “I mean, I knew he went _mad_ , but I didn’t know it was so...complicated? But how do you know it’s the truth? None of the books I’ve read mention any of this. None of the histories. Not even the legends...”

 

Keith's eyes dart his way, and Lance catches the way they widen momentarily when they find him so near. Though he makes no comment on it, his smile is hard to miss.

 

 **_It was agreed by the masses that forgetting Zar of clan Kon and his descent into chaos was best left vague,_ ** he explains - voice low and cautious despite his expression. **_Only those who were there to witness his downfall know the truth. There are scrolls in the library of my home that tell a much different tale from the one you were taught. We have tapestries as well - of a majestic white direwolf keeping watch over the Spurs - that are said to have been woven during Zar’s reign._ **

 

“So your family was one of the few who stayed and fought,” Lance states more than asks. But to his surprise, Keith shakes his head.

 

**_The Koganes fled, as most did, but we went further north rather than south. We vowed not to kill any of innocent blood, regardless of which form they took, and watched from afar as the Kon line vanished and the histories were re-written._ **

 

“You did _nothing?”_ Lance blurts, astounded more than anything. “I thought your family was all about fighting! Your people are warriors! Conquerors! And you _love_ wolves! It makes no sense that you would run away...”

 

He trails off when Keith huffs a shortened laugh, flushing at his own ramblings.

 

 **_Sometimes it’s best to keep a distance,_ ** he answers simply. **_Near the end of it all, almost as many wolves were dying as men: killed to spite Zar and the side he had chosen. But there were no winners - no sides to pick - only survivors who were lucky enough to escape Zar’s reach. He became a shadow of the man he once was and disappeared, becoming a story to haunt the dreams of children._ **

 

“You speak as if you don’t believe it,” Lance comments, catching Keith's gaze. “As if you think the whole thing a legend.”

 

 **_All legends are laced with truths,_ ** is the reply given - the voice in his head humoured and sage. **_But I believe Zar of clan Kon was real. Hundreds of years ago he was flesh and blood, and he fell in love, and it was taken from him. He died a broken man, blaming himself when there was no one left to shoulder the pain of loss._ **

 

Lance hums softly, brows furrowed as he’s burdened with the new information.

 

“I can’t believe the story became so twisted.”

 

 **_It happens,_ **Keith shrugs, ducking beneath a fallen tree and waiting for Lance to do the same before continuing down the same unseen path. It’s a bright night, and were he back at the castle, Lance would likely be sneaking out to practice archery and taking advantage of the silvery hues illuminating the ground. But that’s hardly on his mind right now.

 

“But it shouldn’t have!” he exclaims with unexpected anger. “Why was it forgotten! Why was it changed?!”

 

_Why do so many believe what isn't true?_

 

 **_Most stories are riddled with lies, we just don’t know it,_ ** Keith explains with unexpected calm. **_Zar became a figurehead for tragedy, and lessons were woven to fit the mold he created. A sad prince, a lost love...it’s the perfect plot for an array of morals. People took the basics and altered them to fit their needs. I’m sure each family has their own version of the downfall of the Kon clan to suit their needs._ **

 

 _Such as convincing their son to marry a stranger out of responsibility to others,_ Lance grunts as his temper flares, reminded of his mother's motives behind this year's annual hunt. He can’t _really_ blame her - not if she truly believes her version to be what happened to the prince - but he’s no less upset. No less hurt.

 

He inhales deeply, glancing over at Keith as he releases the breath.

 

“I’m not sure I like _any_ version of the story,” he admits. “Whether yours is true or mine, or someone else’s we haven’t heard yet, the ending is still the same. Zar of clan Kon was forgotten, bitter and sad and guilty. His family name was abandoned, his people fled, and his home was left to sink beneath the waves. He died alone.”

 

 **_And the Isles are still empty,_ ** Keith adds on, the words sounding like a saying Lance has never heard used. But they trigger another part of his mind - another set of unfinished thoughts he’d temporarily pushed aside whilst listening - that cause him falter.

 

“Why are we here, by the way?”

 

Keith pauses as well, ears flicking as his head lowers to Lance's level. Moonlight reflects in wide, lilac eyes, and for a very brief second Lance finds himself wondering what they would look like set in a human face, framed by black hair and thick brows, rosy cheeks and a scar now hidden by fur. He wonders if the twilight would cast faded blues and silvers across already pale skin, imagining it glowing like opals under such a delicate light.

 

And for a startling moment, Lance is consumed by the thought of reaching out to cup the face of the wolf that stares back, fingers twitching at the idea of sinking into a soft smoothness that might _almost_ be like tracing a palm over a cheek.

 

But then Keith blinks, and the second passes. Lance swallows with some effort, dropping his gaze to his feet.

 

_What am I thinking?!_

 

 ** _I have no idea,_** Keith answers his spoken question, though it fits his thoughts as well. **_But...I'm not sure. I feel like we_** **need** ** _to be here. Like something brought us here on purpose._**

 

“The wisps?” Lance manages, grateful for the distraction from his imaginings. “But we didn’t follow them. It was that weird mist, remember?”

 

**_I do, yeah. But-I don’t know. I just have this feeling that we may not be as lost as we think._ **

 

“Speak for yourself,” Lance grumbles, glancing around at their surroundings. He’s never been beyond the Altea Range before, and though the forests are somewhat similar to those south of the mountains, they carry a much different vibe. He feels safe only because Keith is with him, but were he on his own, he would be convinced the trees were watching. Spying, even. The wind is a whisper through the leaves, and Lance is petrified of their gossip.

 

_It knows too many of my secrets, and these woods feel keen to listen._

 

He must shiver, as Keith tilts his head in concern.

 

 **_It’s getting late,_ ** he observes, and though it’s the truth, Lance isn’t exactly tired. The sun was still high when they were mysteriously brought to this place, and he’d slept longer than expected the night before. But he doesn’t argue when Keith suggests making a fire, and follows eagerly when he goes in search of a place to camp.

 

 **_There should be a river nearby here, if I recall correctly,_ ** Keith states after a few more minutes of walking. **_I’ve studied the maps enough to know this terrain like my own face, though I was never permitted to roam this part of the country._ **

 

“And you listened?” Lance almost laughs, trying to fit the image of Keith he’d constructed in the short time of knowing him into the mold of obedience. It’s like attempting to shove a pitchfork in a sheath. “I thought you’d be the type to go where you pleased.”

 

 **_You’re not wrong,_ ** Keith snorts guiltily. **_But this was never somewhere I wanted to be. It feels...off. Wrong, I guess. Like tainted magic._ **

 

“How would you know what that feels-oh,” Lance clears his throat, flushing as he eyes Keith’s tail. “Right, nevermind.”

 

But Keith surprises him with a gentle laugh.

 

 **_I was more referring to my experience with Romelle and her mishaps with spells, not your tart. The air always smelled burnt whenever her magic went haywire. And here it’s stronger, more permanent. As if someone set the breeze ablaze and cursed it to be forever potent._ ** His nose twitches, and he scowls. **_It’s worse now that I’m like this. I can see why the wolves avoid coming here._ **

 

Lance inhales deeply as well, but aside from the faint salty scent of ocean mixing with soil, nothing is different or unpleasant. The air is actually more fresh than burnt, but he only shrugs, taking Keith’s word for it.

 

“Well, if an Altean _was_ really killed here, I wouldn’t doubt that it feels cursed. Never trust the-” but he breaks off with a surge of guilt before finishing the warning, feeling like he’s no better than the people in Zar’s time who had turned a blind eye to the deaths of two innocents simply because they were different. The regret that surfaces is strange, and Lance wonders how many other life lessons had been instilled onto him as a child that were biased in their intent.

 

_Never trust the fae. How many times has that been uttered without anyone batting an eye at its implications?_

 

So he sighs, shaking his head as Keith watches him expectantly.

 

“Nevermind. Are we almost at the river?”

 

 **_I think so,_ ** Keith says after a moment, eyeing him skeptically but allowing the change in topic. **_I can hear it._ **

 

“Does it have fish?”

 

**_Guess we’ll find out. Why, are you hungry?_ **

 

“Are you not?” Lance scoffs, recalling it had been Keith’s proclaimed hunger that had gotten them into this mess, to begin with.

 

 **_I mean, yeah. Of course. And I have this weird urge to_ ** **hunt.** He pauses - ears perking as his eyes narrow - turning towards Lance with a sly grin. **_In fact, you’re starting to smell pretty good-_ **

 

“Not funny,” Lance scolds, pulling his cloak closer around himself and stepping away. “Not funny at all.”

 

 **_Sorry,_ ** Keith simpers, but the humour in his tone does little to make the apology sincere. **_I promise not to eat you._ **

 

“That’s not very-” but Lance is cut off as Keith’s head bends, and he yelps when something cold and wet trails over his hand. He jumps away - tugging his arm to his chest as he glares at Keith in horror. “Did you just _lick me?!”_

 

 **_Just a taste,_ ** Keith winks smugly, trotting away with his tail wagging shamelessly. **_Or you could think of it as a kiss._ **

 

“Both options are awful!” Lance hisses, face heating uncomfortably as he pictures human-Keith taking his hand to plant a gentle press of lips to the back of it. His chest tightens, and he slaps himself back to reality.

 

 _NOPE. NO. Absolutely not having that thought! Get out!_ He pounds the top of his head - as one would do when water is stuck in the ear - until all that’s left is a steady buzz of denial.

 

 _Keith is my rival. Nothing else._ But a tiny voice provides enough of an argument for Lance to compromise. _Okay, maybe we can be friends. Maybe we_ are _friends._

 

_But that’s it. Nothing more._

 

 **_You coming?_ ** he hears ring in his head, and he jolts - glancing up to find Keith staring back at him from down the path, eyes ripes with mirth as he must see the obvious redness in Lance’s face. **_Or do you perhaps want to ride on my back-_ **

 

“Morrigan take you!” Lance curses, slamming his hands over his ears as Keith laughs. He stomps passed him, eyeing the river the nuisance had spoken of and angling towards it. “I’m not catching you any fish, you hear me?! You can starve.”

 

 **_You're heartless!_ ** Keith mopes teasingly, approaching the river's edge where Lance now stands. It’s wide and deep, moving swiftly over large rocks, but there are small pools near the bank where the flow is calmer, and silver streaks can be seen darting beneath the surface of the water.

 

 _Yeah,_ he nods with finality. _Let him catch his own supper._

 

But as he takes his bow off his back and notches an arrow, an overwhelming desire to perform has Lance forgetting his flustered annoyance. He wants Keith to see that he’s capable of fending for himself, especially since their time together has placed him in a very _unflattering_ light of princely privilege. Keith probably thinks he’s some helpless rich boy who can’t tell north from south, or a rabbit from a hare.

 

And though Lance _may_ have been raised in a castle surrounded by books and manners and lessons upon lessons of etiquette, he’s no stranger to surviving the wilds. His father made sure of that.

 

 _I’ll show him how it’s done,_ he thinks with determination, drawing back the bowstring and taking aim. It’s difficult with the moon reflecting off the water and making the image of the fish below choppy and unfocused, but he’s unfazed. He’s trained in following a moving target - anticipating where it will go - and with a short breath in he releases, reaching forward to claim his prize as his arrow finds its mark with a satisfactory splash.  

 

He holds it up, smirking over at Keith.

 

“Your turn.”

 

 **_That was-_ ** but Keith breaks off when he catches Lance’s smug expression - brows lowering in exasperation as he realizes the challenge. **_Oh, I get it. You’re trying to make me look bad._ **

 

Lance only shrugs, biting his lower lip to keep from grinning.

 

 **_Fine. I accept,_ ** Keith lowers his head towards the surface of the river, ears forward and eyes wide. **_I’m faster than these fish._ **

 

He waits a moment, and with a sudden movement, he jerks his paw into the water, hoisting it back up and thoroughly splashing himself in the face. Lance almost chokes as he bursts into laughter, watching Keith’s face drop as he shakes himself of the soaking before glaring down at the river.

 

**_I had it! No fair!_ **

 

“Wanna try again?” Lance manages to suggest through his giggles, though he tries to stifle them when Keith’s eyes jerk his way.

 

**_That was a practice run. It didn’t count._ **

 

“Sure, whatever you say, master hunter.”

 

Keith growls at him - cold water droplets landing at Lance’s feet - and turns back to the fish.

 

**_This time I’m ready. I’m in their headspace. I see you little fish. I see you swimming down there…_ **

 

Lance presses a hand over his mouth to quiet his chuckles, finding the unfiltered access to Keith’s thoughts comical as the massive wolf wiggles his way closer to the bank, hovering over it as he lifts the same paw.

 

**_I’ll show him how to properly catch a-_ **

 

But before he can finish his thought the ground beneath him gives way, and with a startled yelp, Keith falls headfirst into the river.

 

 **_Gunderson's arse! It’s freezing!_ ** he shouts as he rights himself, jumping back onto dry land as Lance bends forward in gasping guffaws. Keith gapes over at him - absolutely drenched and looking half his usual size as his thick fur clings to his body - and whines. **_Oh, you find_ ** **this** **_funny?!_ **

 

Lance tries to answer, but when he opens his mouth only laughter escapes, and he clutches his side as the start of a cramp flares up.

 

 **_Why didn’t you warn me there was an overhanging ledge?!_ ** Keith accuses, sneezing loudly as his coat drips and water pools under his feet.

 

“I didn’t know-” Lance wheezes, wiping a tear from his eye as he dissolves into another fit of hilarity. Keith grunts, stepping closer.

 

 **_Let’s see how_ ** **you** **_like it!_ ** he grumbles, and then shakes - dousing Lance in a spray of icy river water that he’s not quick enough to avoid.

 

“Ack! Keith- _stop!”_ he squeaks, unable to efficiently guard his face with one hand holding the arrow with his fish. He tries ducking, but Keith only moves closer, shaking harder as his own snickers join Lance’s.

 

 **_See?! It’s cold!_ ** he huffs when he stills - fur now poofy and standing on end. He looks even _more_ hilarious, but Lance is able to contain himself this time.

 

“Ah,” he sighs with humour, unable to find it in himself to be mad as the smell of wet dog clings to his clothing. “That was beyond treasonous. Now we’re both drenched and you’ve scared away the fish.”

 

 **_You can just catch us more,_ ** Keith simpers back, rubbing his paw over his snout in an effort to dry it further. **_I have complete and utter faith in your abilities._ **

 

Which has steam rising off Lance’s face as he blushes and turns away. There’s no teasing in Keith’s tone. No sarcasm or hidden joke. His words are genuine - like he truly believes him capable - and their impact has Lance holding his breath as he moves a bit further upstream.

 

 _So we’re back to the charm, are we?_ he questions internally, fiddling with his arrows as he grabs a large piece of bark on which to place his previous catch. _How annoying._

 

Only...it’s not this time. Not really, anyway. Not as much as before. And maybe _that’s_ what he finds annoying - this sudden lack of an urge to roll his eyes at Keith’s shameless compliments.

 

 _Great. So I’m getting used to him?! But then why are my cheeks burning! What is_ wrong _with me?!_

 

He decides it must be an oncoming fever, and calls out over his shoulder as he takes aim at another small school of fish.

 

“Go collect firewood. We’ll need to dry off soon to prevent getting sick.”

 

 **_Um...how?_ ** Keith answers, shaking again. **_I don’t have my ax. Or_ ** **hands** **_, for that matter._ **

 

_Oh, right…_

 

“Can you use your mouth or something?” Lance suggests without turning, taking longer to aim in order to calm his pulse. For some reason, it escalates whenever Keith’s words echo in his mind.

 

 **_Right. Yes. I’ll_ ** **bite** **_the tree apart. How silly of me not to suggest such a thing._ **

 

Lance snorts, but that’s as far as he lets his reaction go - swallowing the rest of the laugh when Keith approaches.

 

“I meant collecting twigs and branches and such, you useless pelt.”

 

 **_Thy words wound me,_ ** Keith jests as his ears flatten to the back of his head, using an overly dramatic tone. **_A useless pelt, he says! After my heroic attempt at fishing!_ **

 

Containing his laugh is harder this time, but Lance is able to wave it off by dealing his own remark.

 

“Is _that_ what that was called? And here I thought you were taking a bath.”

 

 **_It was a tad too cold for my liking,_ ** Keith hums back honestly, and Lance crooks a brow.

 

“Aren’t you _from_ here? Don’t you swim in the glacier-fed fjords and dive beneath the ice for hours at a time in the winter?”

 

 **_What sort of rumours do you southerners spread?!_ ** Keith harrumphs with a chuckle, paw stomping for added effect. **_We live in seemingly perpetual winter, yes, but we_ ** **do** **_prefer warmth when washing up. Though..._ ** and he sits, making himself comfortable. **_I won’t lie. I’ve swum in iced-over waters before._ **

 

“Why?!”

 

 ** _It can be refreshing!_** **_And Shiro said it would help me focus._**

 

“Did it?” Lance asks, closing one eye to concentrate better. It’s hard with Keith so close, chatting so amiably about something so mundane. But he can’t help but prod the coals of conversation, not caring what sort of flames ignite. “Was your mind clearer? Your soul rejuvenated? Your woes smaller?”

 

Keith scoffs, expression wicked.

 

**_Something was smaller alright, but it wasn’t my woes._ **

 

Lance coughs as he swallows incorrectly, face heating anew as he accidentally releases the arrow. It splashes into the river a good distance away, hitting a rock and washing downstream out of view.

 

They both stare at it for a long moment, and then Lance throws his arms in the air, spinning on his heel.

 

"Go get something to start a fire!" he exclaims, hoping the moonlight isn't so bright that Keith can see his flush. "Or find a place to sleep tonight! I can't work with you watching over my shoulder."

 

 **_I didn't take you for someone with performance anxiety,_ ** Keith grins, jumping back when Lance reaches out to smack him. **_Okay, I'll go! I'm going. I'll get you your wood and find us a nice cozy place to sleep._ **

 

"Don't go too far," Lance warns, drawing back another arrow. He's worried Keith could go full wolf again and just leave him alone in this unfamiliar place, but he can't exactly ask him to stay after giving him a task. The best option would be for Keith to busy himself somewhere nearby where Lance can keep an eye on him if necessary.

 

 **_Aw,_ ** Keith coos, taking Lance's concerns a different way. **_I like when you worry about my safety. It gives me some much-needed hope for our future._ **

 

Lance scowls, groaning loudly as he changes his mind about his hesitations with being alone.

 

"What _future?!_ Actually, nevermind. Just go do your job and let me fish in peace."

 

 **_As you command, Highness!_ ** Keith announces with false bravado before moving off back to the woods. His footsteps are quiet, and just when Lance thinks he should glance over his shoulder to see where the direwolf had gone, a tune begins to hum in his head.

 

It’s familiar, but only vaguely so, and Lance stills as he listens, trying to place where he’d heard it before. It doesn’t take long for him to remember, and the lyrics that accompany the song come to the forefront of his mind, leaving him singing along in silence.

 

_The wolves, the wolves, will come at night,_

_To hunt the ones who do no right._

_Their shadows stalk between the trees,_

_To bring nothing but our unease._

_With teeth of glass and claws of steel,_

_The wolves are out to seek their meal._

_So listen well and listen true,_

_Avoid the woods after nightfall._

 

It’s a nursery rhyme from his childhood, he recalls. A song the local children would sing when playing in the fields or from the safety of their homes. He wonders why Keith would hum such a thing - given the lyrics - but then the boy begins to sing, and Lance lowers his bow as a smooth, harmonious voice fills the spaces in his head. It's a pleasant sound - unexpected given its owner - but Lance is quickly distracted when he realizes the words are different. Changed. Carrying a new meaning. He stares down at the water as he listens to the altered verse while Keith’s harmony surrounds him - awed by the differences in the message.

 

**_The wolves, the wolves, will come at night,_ **

**_To chase away the nightmares fright._ **

**_They move in packs over the snow,_ **

**_Silent as a dream they go._ **

**_They howl and sing and bring us ease,_ **

**_They run and dance between trees._ **

**_So listen well and listen true,_ **

**_Fear not the woods after nightfall._ **

 

Lance blinks as Keith’s voice fades away, replaced by the humming from before. He’s almost tempted to call out, but he’s unsure what he would say. He can’t compliment him on his singing ability - that opens too many doors for conversations and comments and _feelings_ he would prefer to avoid. But he can’t exactly make fun of him or anything either, because it would be _easy_ to tell he was lying, and even if it weren’t he doesn’t want to risk offending Keith only to spare himself admitting he actually enjoyed the song.

 

So as he stands there staring mutely down at the river, listening to Keith continue the tune unbothered, Lance decides it’s best to just keep quiet. Besides, this way he can use the constant humming to monitor Keith’s being, recalling how a prolonged silence could indicate a change in mental state from man-in-wolf body to wolf-in-wolf body.

 

He draws back his bowstring as he exhales through his mouth, closing one eye and aiming down at the fish below. And as he waits for the perfect moment he wonders about the Koganes, and the wolves. He wonders about his own family, and the other clans who place so much emphasis on hating what they don’t know.

 

He wonders about the song and the story, and the lessons he’d been taught that are so different from the ones Keith is showing him. He wonders how much of what he’d learned is based on lies, or misconceptions, or just _fear._

 

But mostly, Lance wonders about Keith, and how much more there is to understand about the boy. About his past. About his future.

 

About... _their_ future?

 

And when his thoughts begin to stray down paths he’d been wary of exploring, Lance releases the arrow, using the splash of cold water to distract himself from unwanted musings.

 

He shoves aside his wonder and devotes his attention to fishing, trying to ignore Keith’s voice in his head convincing him not to fear the woods at night.

 

* * *

 

It doesn't take him long to gather an adequate amount of food for them both, and by that time Keith has found a sheltered spot within the forest for them to camp for the night. He comes to fetch Lance when the wood is all gathered, eager to do more but unable to given his paws.

 

 **_I'll help eat, how about that?_ ** he suggests when Lance hoists the pile of fish he’d caught and follows him away from the river. But when they get to the small clearing protected by tall balsam branches Keith had found, he decides the boy has done more than enough already.

 

A large pile of twigs and woody debris of all sizes sit by a circle of rocks Keith had prepared, and Lance raises a brow when he sees a bed of moss laid out by an overgrown root that looks surprisingly comfortable, if homemade.

 

 _Did he do that for me?_ Lance thinks as he sets his make-shift bark plate of fish down. _How considerate…_

 

**_I would have started the fire but-_ **

 

“I’ll do it,” Lance waves him off, crouching to arrange a small pyramid of dry sticks and lichen. Keith watches him intently as he works, ears twitching when Lance reaches for the flint he keeps in a small pouch on his quiver. His hand then moves to his belt, where his fingers trail over the hilt of Keith’s knife. “Do you mind if I use this?”

 

**_By all means._ **

 

“Thanks.” He unsheathes it, and with a single, fluid motion, he strikes it against the flint, creating several sparks that he nurtures into flame - feeding the growing fire larger pieces of wood until a steady heat soaks into his bones. Keith grunts his approval when Lance begins cooking the fish - the smell of it causing their mouths to water.

 

It’s a quick meal - both too hungry to spare mouth space for words - but it’s filling, and Lance leans against a nearby log with a contented sigh, feeling more drowsy now that his stomach isn’t complaining.

 

 **_That was probably the best meal of my life,_ ** Keith praises lavishly once finished, moving to sit at Lance’s side despite there being an entire forest floor to choose from. **_I don’t think I’ve had anything so delicious._ **

 

“Then you’ve lived a very bland life,” Lance teases, hoping his blush is hidden by the warm glow of the fire. “If I had spices it would have been a _thousand_ times better.”

 

 **_Then you’ll just have to cook for me again,_ ** Keith answers suavely, but before Lance can brush off his suggestion, his head jerks up - nose twitching as he nods over to the pile of wood he’d gathered. **_Oh right! I got something else for you._ **

 

“You...what?”

 

**_It’s for your cheek._ **

 

“My cheek- oh.” Lance reaches up to lightly brush his fingers against his face, wincing when he finds the cut he’d received the night before. He’d completely forgotten it was there since the throbbing faded, and hasn’t exactly had an opportunity to glance at himself in a mirror as of late.

 

 _Morrigan take me, I probably look like an absolute mess right now,_ he sulks self-consciously, but it’s only a lingering sentiment, hastily replaced by: _why do I even care? This is the first time no one has gotten after me for being anything less than presentable._

 

But still, despite the fact that _he_ may not be worried over his looks, it doesn’t mean everyone will respect his choice. It’s odd, but Lance stiffens in mild offense, which Keith easily picks up on and interprets correctly.

 

 **_It’s to prevent an infection and speed healing, Lance,_ ** he grunts almost boredly. **_Not because I find it unappealing. If anything, the cut makes you look more rugged. If I squint, it_ ** **almost** **_looks like an Altean mark-_ **

 

“I’m going to stop you there,” Lance interrupts, holding up a hand as he rises to his feet. He moves over to the pile of sticks, searching amongst it and finding several uprooted plants that he stares down at in confusion. “Um...you got me flowers?”

 

 **_Yeah!_ ** Keith answers cheerfully, but when Lance hesitates in picking them up he adds: **_but they aren’t for sentiment's sake, unless you want them to be. It’s arnica. You can use it for treating minor wounds and such._ **

 

“Arnica?” Lance repeats slowly, coughing awkwardly as he bends to touch the bright yellow petals while pretending he hadn’t heard anything else Keith had said. He feels like he’s seen them before, hanging in the healer's tower for drying, but he’s always known the plant by a different name. “Isn’t this wolf’s bane?”

 

Keith scoffs, ears flattening as his expression turns to offense.

 

 **_We call it wolf’s eye, up here,_ ** he explains patiently, and Lance mutters a guilty ‘oh’ in response. **_But yes, it’s the same plant. I would have prepared it for you but...no hands…_ **

 

“That’s fine. Thanks for doing this much,” Lance answers with a small smile, a hint of warmth blossoming behind his ribcage that he blames on being too close to the fire. “I...appreciate it. Really.”

 

Keith doesn’t answer, but his grin speaks volumes. One paw curls over the other as he watches Lance gather the parts of the plant he needs to make a poultice, shifting over when he returns to sit back against the log.

 

"I never thought I would have to use this skill," Lance muses, grabbing a somewhat curved piece of bark and dropping the plant clippings in. "Usually Olkari makes all the medicines I need. I’m glad I pestered her so many times to teach me."

 

 ** _I learned from Shiro,_** Keith adds to the conversation. **_He said it was something I of all people needed to perfect, given how often I would come home with injuries._**

 

"Is that really something to brag about?"

 

**_Depends...are you impressed?_ **

 

Lance only groans playfully in response, wiping his fingers of dirt as he finishes his preparations. But he pauses when he realizes he has nothing to mix with - having not packed a mortar and pestle - causing Keith to blink over and notice the same thing.

 

 **_You can use the hilt of my knife, if you want,_ ** he offers kindly, and Lance bites back another smile as that warmth inside him begins to spread. He works in silence, making a rather crude rendition of the poultice that he applies to his face, sighing as the cool, tingling sensation eases into his skin.

 

“Thanks,” he murmurs again once finished, resting his head against the top of the log and feeling genuinely relaxed for the first time in days. “Maybe now it won’t scar.”

 

**_Are you worried it will?_ **

 

“Not really,” Lance answers, but he finds himself frowning doubtfully. “Well...I might be more worried when my mother sees it.”

 

**_Do you think she’ll care that much?_ **

 

Lance only shrugs, not wanting to picture her reaction should he return with a direwolf and flaw beneath his eye. He’s not sure which one she’d react to worse.

 

 **_I think she’ll just be relieved that you’re okay_ **, Keith reasons following his silence, and Lance grunts in denial as he begins cleaning the hilt of the knife. But rather than continue the topic of his potentially marred looks, he pauses to admire the way Keith's blade catches the moonlight peeking through the trees. It highlights the odd hue of the weapon - a lighter violet than Keith’s eyes but no less captivating. Lance brings it closer to his face, squinting in the flickering shadows cast by the fire as he flips it over between his hands.

 

“What kind of metal is this, by the way?”

 

Keith shuffles closer, bending his head to place his nose on the hilt, as if smelling it will help him answer.

 

 **_I’m not too sure, to be honest,_ ** he admits as he leans back, blinking down at the knife with a fond expression. **_I only know it’s been in my family for years. It belonged to my father, and his father’s father before him, who was given it by his wife during one of her raids in the lands over the seas._ **

 

“Wow. That’s quite the history.”

 

 **_It is, yeah. And I’ve always admired it,_ ** Keith continues. **_I used to pester my Mother about when she would pass it on to me. Every chance I got, I hinted that I was ready. That I was old enough. But her answer was always the same._ **

 

“Which was…?” Lance prods when Keith remains quiet, and is met with wide eyes a near perfect match to the knife he still holds. Sharp. Deadly.

 

Beautiful...

 

**_‘It’s yours the day you challenge your fate.’_ **

 

Lance swallows thickly, turning away from Keith to stare down at the blade. His finger traces over the unfamiliar rune etched into it, cheeks heating for no apparent reason.

 

“And what day was that?”

 

Keith hums to himself, almost smiling when Lance peeks over.

 

**_The day I met you._ **

 

It’s a moment of shock wherein Lance stares back at Keith with a slack jaw and heating ears, completely and utterly at a loss for words as a gentle breeze shakes the branches overhead.

 

 _The...day we met?_ he repeats with tardy understanding. _But that would mean-_

 

And then it clicks. The ceremony for the annual hunt, the shared moment he’d glimpsed between Lady Krolia and her son, the leather bundle he’d witnessed handed over...the moment his and Keith’s eyes had met shortly thereafter…

 

At the time, Lance had thought it was because Keith had sensed him watching, but now? Now he wonders if the message that had accompanied the passing of the knife had urged Keith to seek his gaze - to meet the eyes of the one he’s to fight for. To _win_ for.

 

_To…challenge?_

 

“But that would mean I was your fate-” Lance murmurs, not realizing he’d spoken the thought out loud until Keith chuckles nervously.

 

**_I mean..._ **

 

“Wait, no-!” Lance hurries, face flushing as his chest tightens in embarrassment. “That’s not- you...it doesn’t-” he exhales with a grunt, brows furrowing as the memory repeats, and finds something to nitpick in order to alter the course of the conversation. “But you _glared_ at me!”

 

Keith looks taken aback by the sudden outburst, but recovers quickly enough with a short laugh.

 

 **_So you_ ** **were** **_spying!_ **

 

“I-” but Lance breaks off to clear his throat, turning away to salvage the remainder of his pride. “I was simply observing.”

 

Keith titters skeptically, lips curling as he stares down at his paws. But his expression sobers after a moment - eyes distant as his posture sinks in what Lance almost takes to be shame.

 

 **_I was...stunned, at first, when she gave it to me,_ ** he admits tentatively, as if letting Lance in on some deep secret he’s loath to share. **_For years I thought I would receive it after some great victory in battle, as praise for something heroic or daring...maybe even when I was old enough to take over the clan. But when Mother gave it to me before the hunt -_ ** **your** **_hunt - I was...upset, I guess. It felt shallow. Anticlimactic._ **

 

“Oh…”

 

 **_Not because of you!_ ** Keith rushes to clarify, ears flattening as he looks back at Lance. **_I just felt like I hadn’t done anything to_ ** **deserve** **_it yet. This knife has been wielded by my family for generations, and I figured when it finally belonged to me I would use it for greatness. I would use it to help the innocent, or free the enslaved. I never imagined Mother would give it to me before a competition meant for killing wolves._ **

 

Lance remains silent, digesting Keith’s words as he keeps his gaze on the knife. He understands - to an extent - what the boy would have felt. What he would have thought. He knows all too well the confusion that accompanies the decisions of a parent, particularly a mother.

 

But he also feels somewhat guilty that Keith lost the moment he’d been anticipating for so long over a competition he’d been opposed to joining. His dreams of earning the knife were wasted on a prince he didn’t even want.

 

 _Morrigan take me,_ Lance curses himself. _How much more of his life can I ruin?_

 

 **_I can hear you overthinking,_ ** Keith murmurs gently, shuffling closer. But when Lance still can’t bring himself to answer, Keith nudges into his side with his nose. **_Hey, Lance, look at me._ **

 

 _I can’t…_ Lance sighs, but a second later there’s a weight in his lap, and Lance blinks down in shock to find Keith’s head resting there - indigo eyes staring up at him earnestly.

 

“Wha-”

 

 **_Don’t pity me, Lance,_ ** Keith instructs, diligently holding his gaze. **_I realized soon enough why Mother gave me the knife when she did. I was only disappointed because I had overestimated that moment. I had all these childish fantasies about how it would happen and when. But it didn’t even matter, because I didn’t earn the knife when I challenged my fate._ **

 

 **_It became mine the day my fate challenged_ ** **me.**

 

Lance frowns, trying to grasp what Keith means, but he doesn’t have to ponder it long. The direwolf smiles, lifting his head off Lance’s lap so they’re eye-level.

 

 **_As soon as you planted your clan’s banner in the ground, I knew. As soon as you declared your intent to fight for yourself, I knew. As soon as I saw you in that meadow, reaching out to pet that wolf without fear or hesitation, I_ ** **knew!**

 

“You knew what…” Lance breathes, voice barely audible in the night. But he’s entranced by Keith’s words. Thoroughly ensnarled. Absolutely, _unabashedly_ drawn in. He stares into those familiar eyes, forgetting he’s supposed to avoid moments like these - prevent the cracks in his armour from tearing open any further - but then he hears the soft croon of affection buzz through his head as Keith leans closer, and his objections are forgotten.

 

 **_Well, it’s as you said,_ ** he hears whispered lowly. **_I realized_ ** **you** **_were my fate, Lance. You..._ ** **are** **_my-_ **

 

“Don’t!” Lance gasps in an abrupt panic, dropping the knife in order to free his hands and push Keith’s face away. He averts his eyes, breathing heavily as his ribs tighten around his heart and his palms grow clammy. “Don’t say that. Just…don’t-”

 

He’s not sure why, but hearing Keith admit something so...so _confidential -_ so _personal -_ is overwhelming. It’s devastating, but in a way, he finds difficult to interpret. Because it’s not supposed to _go_ this way. Keith is his _mistake._ His burden! He can’t be anything else. He’s not _allowed_ to be anything else!

 

And sure, yeah, he’d slipped with the whole friendship thing, but that hadn’t seemed so bad. It was better than being alone in this. Better than dealing with the consequences of his actions in silence.

 

Keith could be a brief companion, but Lance had been firm with the rest. The charm, the compliments, the way his stupid heart keeps stuttering whenever he hears those thoughts in his head...all of it was supposed to be ignored. Brushed off. Locked away.

 

Because there’s too much uncertainty! Too many unknowns! He’s scared of what will happen if they fail - if Keith becomes what so much of their land fears. And maybe he’d been preparing for the worst case scenario despite his intentions to remain positive. Maybe he’d been ready to accept the inevitable before even realizing it could come to pass! Maybe, this whole time, he’d been unwilling to accept Keith’s feelings - his _own_ feelings -  because of what it would mean for him if he can’t break the spell. If he can’t _fix this!_

 

And it’s selfish and greedy and _heartless!_ But he can’t let himself fall for Keith. Not when the risk of losing him so quick is so high.

 

It’s not fair. It’s _never_ fair. And it pains Lance more than anything to admit, but it’s the truth he’s faced with. The real reason he can’t allow Keith to finish his thoughts - to confess his intentions _again._

 

He was able to avoid them before because Lance believed they were flawed in their intent. Keith didn’t want _him_ . Keith wanted his _crown._ His _title._ He even admitted it himself, back in the kitchen before offering that carved wolf in exchange for his hand!

 

And he’d denied then because it was _easy!_ But now it’s different. Now Lance _knows_ a side of the suitor from clan Kogane that he wouldn’t have had their stories not become entwined. He knows his humour. He knows his laugh. He knows his decency, and his chivalry, and his genuine interests and thoughts and beliefs.

 

He knows _Keith_ , and if he were to be presented with that carved wolf again, asked that same question by the voice he knows so well, Lance isn’t sure what his reaction would be. And that _terrifies him!_   

 

And it's because he’s petrified that he worries his heart will shatter if he doesn't keep it behind a wall of rebuttal. He’s anxious that even _if_ the boy with the spirit of a wolf holds the hammer to free him from his prison of doubt, that he won’t have enough time to break it before he’s taken over by the spell.

 

Lance has _seen_ those amethyst eyes turn dark before. He’s _watched_ them be swallowed up, not leaving any trace of humanity behind. What will happen if he’s forced to witness them fade forever should the second sun rise and the beast take over?

 

 _I can’t love a wolf,_ some part of him whispers regretfully. _And I can’t love Keith._

 

_Because what can I do if they become one and the same? What can I do when the clans band together to take him down? What can I do but watch as he's hunted and killed and paraded around, knowing it was my fault? My doing? My mistake..._

 

 _I can do_ nothing _but protect myself from further hurt. If we can't figure this out, then the only thing I might be able to save is my heart._

 

_Which means I can't give it away, no matter how much I-_

 

_No matter how willing I am to-_

 

_No matter…_

 

"I can't," he breathes unsteadily, not knowing if Keith can hear him or not. "I just can't."

 

And he hates that he feels this way - that he's choosing to protect himself rather than give in to what his heart is so eager to express - especially since this is _all_ he wanted in the first place. To find his own path. To choose for himself. To have someone like him for _who_ he is, not what.

 

But in the end, he's a spoiled prince, no matter what he tries to prove otherwise, no matter how hard he tries to change. His fate is set in stone, and he was a fool for ever thinking he had some say in it.

 

_I should never have gotten involved. I should have just stayed in the castle and listening to mum and married whoever won._

 

_It would have been Keith anyway. That's what my fate had in store for me. But I wrecked it. I meddled with it. And now his life is at stake and I'm too selfish to even let him tell me how he feels._

 

_I'm too scared of what I'll do if he does…_

 

_So I can’t. I won’t. I-_

 

 **_Lance, I need you to know-_ ** Keith tries after a long, _excruciating_ pause, but Lance suddenly stands, sheathing the knife and returning it to his belt. He can’t look Keith in the eye - can barely look at him at _all_ \- and retreats to the far side of the fire where his bed of moss had been so caringly prepared.

 

“I’m tired,” is all he’s capable of saying, curling up on his side and facing away from the direwolf that stares after him wistfully. But Lance doesn’t meet his gaze. Doesn’t give in to the overpowering desire to apologize and admit that maybe he _could_ be Keith’s fate, if Keith could be his.

 

 _But that’s not how this story unfolds,_ he tries to convince himself as he tugs the hood of his cloak up and over his head. _That’s not how this works. And even if it_ were _, who says I’m even worthy of accepting his feelings? I don’t deserve his kindness. I don’t deserve his attention._

 

 _I don’t deserve_ him, _especially if he loses himself because of me. I’m just a cowardly prince. I’ll never be worthy of a wolf._

 

An emptiness replaces the warmth that had been lingering in his chest, but Lance welcomes it. Accepts it. He lets it take over, pulling him down into reluctant exhaustion - barely cognizant of the hushed wish of sweet dreams from a voice that’s not his own.

 

And even _that_ he doesn’t deserve.

 

 _Let the nightmares take me,_ he curses as his jaw aches from withholding tears. _Let the night never end, so that the sun doesn't rise and the spell won’t take over._

 

The wind grows stronger, curling around him with a biting chill, but Lance ignores it, eyes closing as his fingers find the hilt of Keith's knife.

 

 _Let me fix this,_ he begs whoever will listen, not wiping the tears as they slide down his face. _Just show me how... Help me! Don't let him fade to legend…!_

 

The night stills, a cloud drifting over the moon to dampen her light, and in the darkness, Lance loses himself entirely, visibly shaking as his anxieties consume him.

 

He doesn't hear the question in his head asking if he's alright. He doesn't see the shadow of a massive wolf hover over him in concern. He doesn't smell the smoke that rises as another piece of wood is hastily thrown on the fire.

 

But he _feels_ the warmth that accompanies soft fur pressing into his hands. He feels the safety that chases away the doubts as Keith curls around him, sheltering him from the shadows that linger in wait. He feels the regret of allowing himself to seek the comfort of another's pulse in his ears, but it doesn't stop him from reaching out, embracing it, holding it tighter.

 

And he feels the relief of knowing Keith is still here, still himself, and still kind enough to care for him despite the way he reacted. Despite his selfishness. Despite his fears. Despite his cowardice.

 

 _I don't deserve you_ , Lance repeats mournfully, but he doesn't pull away. If anything he shuffles closer, burying his face in Keith's chest as he cries away his guilt. And Keith stays, resting his head above him and whining softly in the night, singing a nursery rhyme about wolves bringing ease to his mind.

 

And when the moon re-emerges from behind the cloud fool enough to dare hide her, a single beam shines down on them from above. But neither see it, and her light slowly moves off towards the ocean in search of an admirer.

 

It dances across the waves - stirs the tides and reveals the start of a path leading out to several islands worn down by neglect. It flickers over the broken walls, passed the ruined towers, and finds a crevice in the foundations of a once mighty castle where it can shine down into darkness long forgotten.

 

And here something sees her. Here something takes notice.

 

A single eye opens, and the moonlight shivers at the malice in its gaze, retreating behind another cloud and returning the isles to shadow.

 

But the eye doesn’t close, and with a deep inhale, a nose catches the scent of strangers in the air. Fur bristles. Claws stretch. A lengthy, guttural growl slips into the night, but it goes unheard by everyone but the moon.

 

She laments her mistake, her vanity, her pride, but it does little good.

 

Something awakens within a kingdom long forgotten, and it's eager to hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...more apologies???
> 
> Idk where the angst came from, honestly...


	9. Hearts to Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irony has a strange way of working.
> 
> For most of his childhood, Lance would dream of wolves and wake screaming - terrified they were real. Because all wolves were evil, and all wolves were bad, and all wolves would hunt him down if he wasn't careful where he wandered. The only wolf he never feared was the fabled Mac Tíre, because it was silly to believe in something that didn't exist. 
> 
> Or so Lance thought. Funny, really, how wrong he'd been. How backward he'd gotten it. How devoted he was to the beasts who cast shadows - how negligent to the ones who embodied them. 
> 
> But irony provides clarification in the only way irony knows how: with a rude awakening from the dream he'd been living, and a monster at his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long wait! I really hope it's worth it X)

There are very few times in his life where he’s dreamt of wolves. 

 

When he was little and naive about the world, he would wake up in cold sweats - the vivid imagery of barred teeth and howling still ripe in his mind. The night would hold shadows of four-legged beasts waiting for him to stick his foot out from beneath the covers and gobble him up. His voice would be stolen, forgotten, lost, and all he could do was wait until the dreams faded and he passed back out.

 

And if that didn’t work - if the nightmares lingered and the wolves drew closer - he would scream until someone woke to rescue him. His parents would run in and console him, providing a sanctuary in the warmth of their arms, murmuring about how there are no wolves to hurt him. Not here. Not now. 

 

_ Go back to sleep love, _ his mother would hush.  _ And dream a more pleasant dream. _

 

Her words brought solace, and as he aged it was only on rare occasions that a wolf would cross into his sleeping thoughts - on a particularly long night or when the moon was hidden from the sky - but when he woke in a panic to find himself safe in his bed, he would turn over on his side and fall back asleep with the instructions from his mother.

 

_ Dream a more pleasant dream. _

 

Because they were  _ never _ nice dreams - the ones about wolves. When he was younger, they were deformed monstrosities with red, glowing eyes, chasing after him and nipping at his heels. When he grew up, they took on a more accurate shape, but the crimes they committed in his mindscape were no less atrocious. No less terrifying. 

 

And he hated them.

 

So when he sees a wolf appear in his dream after crying himself to sleep curled up against Keith, Lance feels himself tense - mind already preparing the scream in his throat. But...it’s different this time. He’s not immediately attacked, or snarled at, or chased. He doesn’t flee or scream or try to fight back, because the wolf only watches him - ears forward and eyes bright. 

 

And he thinks he might recognize it as the one he’d seen in the meadow. The one he’d been unable to kill.

 

The one he’d been  _ unwilling _ to kill. 

 

She watches him carefully, intently, and her pups appear at her feet, running around her legs and yipping contentedly. Lance almost smiles, but there’s an ominous feeling in the air. It’s heavy. Dense. And he finds himself growing apprehensive when he meets her eyes.

 

She blinks once - slowly and with purpose - before her head moves to stare at the mountains behind them. Lance follows her gaze, gasping when he finds the Altea Range shrouded in mist. But something has him moving. Some  _ push _ drives him forward. He passes the wolves in the meadow, and when he looks back they’re gone - Keith’s knife stuck in the ground behind him. 

 

And then he’s flying. Up the cliffs towards Marmora’s Blade, passed the fire waters and the peaks he’s not yet explored. He rises over the mountains and falls back to earth - stomach dropping sickeningly as a fierce wind pummels him from all directions. He covers his face, but no impact follows. No pain. No jolt back to reality. 

 

Something stirs beside him, and he opens his eyes to find Keith standing there.  _ Human _ Keith, with his red cloak dancing around his shoulders while his hair is tousled by a motionless breeze. He smiles, and Lance forgets what it means to breathe as he stares back into those unique, lovely eyes. 

 

The eyes he's come to know and trust. The eyes he finds himself drawn to - safe and kind and caring. 

 

The eyes of a warrior. 

 

The eyes of a leader.

 

The eyes he fears he'll lose should he fail.

 

_ “Why are you here?” _ he whispers as he swallows his doubt.  _ “Why did you come?” _

 

No answer is given, and when Lance blinks he finds himself staring back at the direwolf with Keith’s eyes. He peers into them, confused but comforted, until purple shifts to black. Lance calls out to stop the change, but the mist from the mountains rushes to surround him, pushing Keith just out of reach as an eerie cry echoes from somewhere behind him.

 

_ "Wait! Not yet!"  _ he begs, reaching out in desperation. His fingers clench around nothing, and he can’t move his legs - forced to watch the fog divide them until Keith is no more.

 

_ No!  _ he tries to shout, but the word is soundless and heavy, falling from his mouth in the form of a tart. He gapes down at it, and suddenly the mist is gone - a single wisp flickering at his feet.

 

_ “Help me-”  _ he manages to plea, but rather than fade and reappear down the path, the wisp begins to grow and morph, resembling an eerie blue bonfire that carries no heat. Lance shrinks back regardless, covering his eyes with his hands as the light shimmies and shifts into something with shape. It becomes too bright to stand, but it only lasts a moment, and when Lance peeks through his fingers he finds the wisp at his feet is now an elegant, white direwolf.

 

_ “Who are you? Where is Keith?” _ he questions, and the beast stares down at him with wide, amber eyes, striking a match of realization within him.  _ “Honerva…” _

 

She doesn’t nod an affirmation, instead bending so her shoulders are at his level. And he knows, somehow, that he’s meant to get on.

 

So he does, climbing up onto her powerful back and holding tight as she takes off. The world shoots passed them in a blur of colour, and Lance keeps his grip as Honerva seemingly glides above it all, legs moving so fluidly they may as well be wings. 

 

But Lance takes no joy in the motion as he had with Keith. If anything, he feels the hair on his neck rise in anticipation of danger as a dark cloud forms in the distance, and when they angle towards it a shiver runs across his arms. The life around them begins to ebb away. Trees become twisted stumps. Grass changes to sharp rock. The atmosphere becomes cold and stagnant, smelling of copper and salt.

 

And a keep comes into view, waving a flag that he doesn’t know. But it brings him nothing but dread as Honerva comes to a stop at the edge of a cliff overlooking a red ocean, and Lance’s eyes grow wide he pieces together where they are.

 

_ “The Isles of Kon…” _

 

She bends, allowing him to slip off her back, and then nods out towards what he assumes to be Zar’s castle pre-wreckage - seeing what it must have looked like at the time of his fall. It’s ominous and imposing, though oddly lovely, and as Lance stares down at it from their position up on the cliffs, something cries out from one of the towers, sounding like the great howl of a monster that shouldn’t exist.

 

Lance’s pulse stutters as he stumbles backward, but Honerva doesn’t flinch. Rather, the great white wolf looks almost  _ sad  _ as she continues to stare down at the castle - as if hearing the howl brings sorrow and remorse rather than fear and an overwhelming urge to run. 

 

_ “This is a bad place,”  _ Lance hears himself say.  _ “What happened here was awful.” _

 

He isn’t expecting a response, but after a long, thoughtful moment a voice answers - pained and unfamiliar.

 

_ “It wasn’t always this way.”  _

 

He flinches, body freezing as Honerva’s honeyed eyes bore into him. Her voice is raspy but firm, sounding wise and patient, which contrasts the airy, playful tones of the other two Alteans he’s met.  _ “This place was once loved, and wolves were not feared. But the wrong lessons were learned. The wrong path was chosen.”  _ She watches him knowingly, fur shimmering like sunshine on snow.  _ “The wrong fate was changed.”  _

 

_ “What do you mean?” _

 

But Honerva turns back to the isles, sighing wistfully as the howling continues. 

 

_ “You must free him, Lance of clan McClain.” _

 

_ “H-how?” _ he staggers, thinking of Allura’s spell and the warning she’d given. Thinking of  _ Keith, _ and the hearts that will change once a truth is told. But he still doesn’t know what that means...what it entails.  _ “What do I do?” _

 

Her image begins to flicker - blue light creeping up her legs like before - and when her voice echoes in his head it’s muffled and broken.

 

_ “You must try-”  _ he hears through the growing buzz in his ears.  _ “-save him….them-”  _ but it means nothing. The words, without any discernible connectivity between them, only add to Lance’s confusion, and he winces as her light grows stronger.

 

_ “No, wait! I didn’t hear what you said! You need to help me!”  _

 

_ “Free him-” _

 

_ “HOW?!” _

 

But in a blink, she’s gone, and before Lance can even properly react, the ground beneath his feet begins to quake. His gaze returns to the isles, but they’re ruins again - broken and abandoned - threatened by waves that grow to an alarming size. 

 

_ “What-” _

 

But he’s cut off as a black shadow abruptly rises up from out of the ocean, blocking out the moon and the horizon and what little warmth he'd had managed to covet. He falls back, gaping up as the darkness molds into the immensely  _ monumental _ shape of a wolf. It’s larger than a mountain, and the cliffs tremble and shake as it bears down on him from above. Two crimson eyes open and narrow when they find Lance quivering uncontrollably below, and the shadow splits where the mouth would be, revealing a jagged collection of teeth stained burgundy and dripping drops of drool large enough to form small pools on the ground where they land. 

 

_ “Wh-what is that?!”  _ Lance yelps, desperate to flee the colossal beast that devoured the sky. But he’s alone. And as the shadow opens it’s gaping jaw to swallow him up, he hears a collective whisper from all directions, gasping at the thousands of wisps he sees surrounding him in a field of blue.

 

_ “Change the fates, Lance of clan McClain,” _  they plea in unison - the sound of so many unearthly and strange.  _ “Be the voice for those without.” _

 

The nightmare wolf descends, and Lance is thrown into darkness as something wicked howls in the distance.

 

* * *

 

He wakes to brief paralysis - eyes flinging open but body unable to move. And in the few seconds of sheer panic that follow his escape from the dream, Lance forgets where he is. 

 

The world is bright and unfamiliar - sun peeking through the trees in silence - and the air is crisp and humid, carrying the scent of ocean and smoke. But it's overwhelmed by the heavy perfume of soil and damp fur that Lance can't place. 

 

So he focuses on something else, noticing the ground beneath him is soft, and a gentle heat radiates at his side. 

 

_ I'm safe,  _ he tries to convince himself, nestling closer to the source.  _ It was just a dream. A  _ bad _ dream. But still a dream. _

 

His arms regain feeling, and he wastes no time extending them further into the nearby warmth. He experiences immediate calm - breathing growing less erratic with the smooth motion of every inhale and exhale moving his hands up and down as they card through thick fur. 

 

_ Just a dream, _ he thinks again, trying to forget the shadow that had challenged the heavens. It had felt real, but Lance is well aware of the power the sleeping mind can have, so he pushes the sensation of drowning in darkness away to instead ponder the rest of what he'd seen.

 

He remembers the wolf in the meadow, and Honerva's strange request. But those images hold an uneasiness he doesn't want to explore, and he moves passed them to contemplate the  _ other _ guest to his subconscious.

 

It had been unexpected seeing Keith, but Lance doesn't exactly regret it. In fact, he feels a mild comfort at recalling his human face, though it had been tarnished not long after. But Lance chooses to ignore the way the wolf had taken over, instead pretending his dream had been just that single moment of seeing Keith smile.

 

_ But why was he there?  _

 

The thought has Lance blinking away his exhaustion, frowning as he realizes how close he is to the suitor from clan Kogane. And just like that, the warmth becomes too much - cheeks flaring as he carefully detangles himself from the sleeping wolf. 

 

_ Oh...not good, _ he worries, edging out from under a giant paw as quietly as possible.  _ I shouldn't have- he didn't- _

 

_ Gah, what's the point,  _ he settles after a moment of awkward regret.  _ What's done is done. I'll just add this to the growing list of times he's seen me cry.  _

 

He sits up, glancing over at the peacefully snoring mass with a fondness blossoming in his chest, smiling unexpectedly.

 

But it fades all too quickly as the image of familiar eyes clouding over surfaces, and Lance sighs weakly as he shifts away from Keith and stands. 

 

His eyes turn upwards - taking in the aftermath of what was likely a remarkable sunrise - and clenches his fists to ward off the increasing panic.

 

_ We're running out of time...there's only one day left to change him back.  _

 

It's an uncomfortable thought, and Lance attempts distracting himself from it by heading to the riverside to splash jarringly cold water on his face, feeling the sleep wash from his eyes. It wakes him thoroughly, and his fingers trace over the remnants of the poultice he'd made from the plants Keith had so thoughtfully collected for his cut. 

 

_ Such a kind thing to do... _

 

It no longer aches - which is a small relief - and Lance wipes the dampness from his cheeks with the edge of his cloak as he sits back to watch the river rush mindlessly by. And though the sound of constant flow helps filter his thoughts and keep them from all shouting at once, he's not saved from the worry that escalates as the sky brightens.

 

_ One sunrise gone, _ he thinks with increasing numbness, staring down at the water without blinking.  _ Tomorrow Keith will be lost forever unless we solve Allura's riddle.  _

 

His mind drifts over his dream, reminded of Honerva's words and the ominous shadow wolf who'd inhaled the world. 

 

_ 'Free him'...what does that mean? And how? Why couldn't she have given me some better advice?! _

 

His fingers find several rocks, and he picks them up one by one to toss carelessly in the riffle pools - imagining each as a trouble he can easily rid himself of.

 

But no matter how many stones he throws, the weight behind his ribs only grows, as if he were adding their weight to his pockets rather than letting them go.

 

_ Gah. What are we gonna do? We're on the wrong side of the Altea Range in a place that reeks of regret with no clue where to look or go… _

 

_ Why are we here? What brought us- _

 

But his thoughts are interrupted by a rustle from across the river, and Lance's eyes narrow as they scan the trees for the cause.

 

His pulse slows after a minute or so of silence, and he momentarily relaxes as he passes the sound off as a bird.

 

_ I'm just being paranoid,  _ he reasons, but it's short-lived as something shifts in the shadows, and Lance's breath hitches as he catches the flicker of two eyes staring back at him from across the way.

 

"Who's there-" he starts, but the rest of his sentence is forgotten as a head moves passed the shade of the understory, and Lance finds himself caught in the gaze of a slender, silver wolf.

 

_ Oh Morrigan take me,  _ he grunts, though not without fear. The wolf edges closer - nose twitching as it must analyze his scent - and Lance isn't sure what to do.

 

He didn't bring his bow when he left, but his hand clasps the knife at his hip -  _ Keith's  _ knife - in an effort to reassure himself that he's not entirely defenseless. 

 

"Go on now," he tries, voice betraying him by shaking. "There's nothing for you here."

 

The wolf tilts its head and lowers it to the ground before edging closer to the river bank - completely ignorant to the warning.

 

"Woah, don't do that," Lance cautions warily, shuffling away as smoothly as possible. His only comfort is the size of the obstacle between them, and after watching Keith's reaction to falling in the water last night, he doubts this wolf would be fool enough to try swimming over. "Leave, okay?"

 

His words aren't well-received, as the wolf growls and paws the ground once, and suddenly two more creep out of the bushes, looking much larger than the first. 

 

_ Uh oh… _

 

"Hey!" Lance gulps stiffly, raising the volume of his voice to come off as intimidating. "Go away!"

 

But the wolves don't seem to understand - doing the exact opposite and approaching the bank without hesitation.

 

"You've got to be kidding me…"

 

He curses vehemently as he edges backward, not daring to stand in case his movements are misinterpreted. Fingers tighten on Keith's knife, though Lance doubts it'll do him much good should the wolves try anything. Not against three, anyway.

 

_ But they're on the other side of the river,  _ he reminds himself. _ They won't swim across. They're not stupid enough to get wet so early in the morning. _

 

_ Right? _

 

It's a question he really shouldn't have asked - especially considering how much the fates liked to toy with him - and Lance's sole comfort is hastily revoked as the first wolf crouches at the edge of the river, body bunching like a spring before it leaps forward. Lance can do nothing but gape as he watches it soar across the rushing water between them - the barrier he'd thought was safe - before landing on his side with the grace of a cat. 

 

It watches him in his stunned silence for a few seconds before attempting to step forward, but that's all it takes for Lance to recover from his shock.

And it's almost funny how his gut reaction isn't to run, or draw the knife, or even freeze - as he would have done in the past. Instead, Lance finds himself using his voice for defense, a single word springing from his mouth with an urgency that he's almost ashamed of. But his instincts overpower the embarrassment, and not even the river can drown out the call.

 

_ "KEITH!"  _

 

The silver wolf pauses as Lance hollers the name, ears twitching as something massive crashes through the trees after a moment's pause. And then it's cowering back as a direwolf jumps between them - though Keith doesn't see it as he rushes over to where Lance is still seated on the ground.

 

**_I'm here!_ ** he pants in panic, tail stiff and hackles raised as his nose anxiously presses into Lance's hair.  **_Are you okay?!_ **

 

"There was just a wolf," Lance begins, horrified by the amount of relief he feels now that his saviour is here. "I'm okay, but it just jumped across the river and I was sca-" 

 

He breaks off, clearing his throat as Keith's warm breath tickles his cheek. 

 

"Startled," he finishes, not wanting to admit his fear. He still has  _ some _ pride left to salvage. "I was just startled."

 

Keith's eyes narrow - head turning back and seeing the wolf in question for the first time. He snarls, and it tucks its tail between its legs and whines in surrender before sinking to the ground - looking pitiful as it avoids Keith's glare.

 

**_Hold on,_ ** Lance hears after a moment of intense staring, but before Keith can finish his thought, the other two wolves yip from across the river, gathering his attention.

 

"Oh, right," Lance shivers, taking the opportunity to stand and back away from the edge. His hand drops back to his side, though he keeps his cloak tucked back in case he needs to grab the knife again. "I forgot about those two. They appeared out of nowhere-"

 

**_I recognize them,_ ** Keith interrupts, effectively baffling Lance with the unexpected remark. 

 

"You...what? How?" 

 

**_They look familiar._ **

 

Lance nearly chokes - brows lowering as he stares over at the wolves now hesitantly smelling the air.

 

"Is this some wolfy thing? Do you all know each other or...?"

 

But Keith doesn't answer him, instead lifting his head back to the silver wolf still cowering before them. He makes a small noise - ears flattening at the sound - and then turns back to Lance.

 

**_I need you to do me a favour,_ ** he asks, purple eyes glistening with growing excitement. Lance nods mutely, utterly confused with the turn of events.  **_Can you call out their names?_ **

 

"Their- are you serious?!"

 

But Keith only shifts his gaze back to the trio of wolves, nodding at each as he lists them off.

 

**_That big brown one is Regris,_ ** he begins, and Lance blinks over at the pair still waiting on the other side of the river.  **_And the one with the white paws is Thace._ **

 

Keith's eyes dart back to the small silver wolf now watching with more curiosity than fear, and the tone of his voice grows fonder as he makes the introduction.

 

**_And this little guy is Kosmo._ **

 

"'Kosmo'?" Lance repeats, and as soon as the word leaves his lips the wolf reacts. Steel-coloured ears dart upward as a bushy gray tail wags enthusiastically. It rolls over onto its stomach once - body wiggling as a long, sloppy tongue pokes out between sharp teeth.

 

**_It is him!_ ** Keith cheers suddenly, bending his front legs to lower his torso to the ground. The wolf -  _ Kosmo _ , apparently - jumps up with a bark, running over to Keith but stopping short with his tail raised and nose vibrating. Keith leans forward the rest of the way, cooing in Lance's head a greeting that would otherwise be meant solely for the wolf were he able to speak.

 

**_Kosmo! What are you doing here, you rascal?! Look at how much you've grown! And your fur changed colour_ ** **again!** **_What a pretty boy you are! Such a pretty boy!_ **

 

Kosmo deflates briefly as Keith's bulk towers over him, but he must be able to read the body language as friendly and decide that this enormous beast means him no harm, as his tail wags with a more confident pace. 

 

And then he pounces up onto Keith's shoulder, who falls back with a playful snort as the smaller wolf darts around him in enthusiastic circles.

 

**_I think he knows it's me!_ ** Keith grins, watching Kosmo's antics as his own tail slams happily onto the ground. 

 

"How can you be sure?" Lance huffs in doubt, stepping back to avoid being run-over. “Can you understand him or something?”

 

But Keith doesn’t seem to hear. His focus is entirely on the smaller wolf - the two now play-fighting and rolling around in the dirt - and his thoughts carry a sentimental tone that Lance feels he shouldn’t be privy to. 

 

_ Who are these wolves?  _ he thinks as he fiddles with the turquoise stones around his wrist, doing his best to ignore the cooing in his head.  _ And how does Keith know them? _

 

He shouldn’t be surprised, really, that the Kogane has such acquaintances, but it’s no less bizarre watching them interact so...carelessly?

 

 _No. More like_ _normally. Naturally._

 

_ Fearlessly. _

 

Lance feels a wave of disorientation wash over him, wondering if this is how wolves and men behave when the risk of mutual destruction is missing. Kosmo is like a big dog - Keith even more so - and it fills Lance with an odd dislike that he’s immediately ashamed of. 

 

But seeing him act so friendly...so  _ childish! _ It's hard  _ not _ to feel like he's been missing out on this part of the boy - trapped as they are in the roles dictated by their situation. It's difficult to be anything else with such a heavy threat hanging over them. And besides, 'distant prince' is the part he knows best, though as time goes on the urge to improvise grows, especially with Keith chipping away at his character with every comment or story or teasing remark. 

 

And for a moment Lance had thought it would be okay to try being more himself around the enigma that is Keith. He'd drop a joke here, make a face there...anything to hear that laugh. Imagine that smile. See those eyes light up.

 

But the humour echoing in his head now isn't brought on by something  _ he _ did or said. No, instead Keith chuckles because of the wolf at his feet. He snorts because it bites at his tail. Giggles because it trips over his legs. Grins because it barks and grunts and whines for his attention.

 

And suddenly it's  _ jealousy _ Lance feels more than anything else. Which is absolutely ridiculous. 

 

_ There's no way! _ he scoffs at the idea, though it doesn't hide the twist in his stomach.  _ And of a wolf!? How can I be jealous of a wolf?! _

 

**_But what are you doing here?_ ** he hears Keith continue - saving him from his realizations and turning back to the two wolves now pacing on the other side of the river. The biggest one -  _ Regris? _ \- is next to jump over, and Lance stumbles backward as he watches the movement in awe. Thace is quick to follow, landing effortlessly alongside his companion as if the expanse of rushing water were a mere puddle to hop. 

 

_ How do they make that look so easy!?  _ Lance admires, watching as they move to join Kosmo in greeting Keith. The four of them have a brief stand-off that dissolves back into spirited skirmishing - yipping like puppies as they wrestle on the ground. 

 

And it’s...sort of cute, to be honest. Not only is his mind filled with Keith’s giddiness towards the wolves, but seeing him so carefree and happy in the midst of all they’ve been through is...well - it’s nice. 

 

Refreshing. 

 

His jealousy slips away - replaced by a warm smile that lifts his cheeks - and it doesn’t take much for him to imagine Keith as his human self playing with the three wolves, and not much more after that to picture the animals as children instead. 

 

_ I wonder how he is with kids... _ some part of him whispers, and it hits Lance with jarring awareness that he’d allowed his thoughts to wander a tad  _ too _ far down a perilous path of...what. Domesticity? 

 

_ What in the fae’s name am I thinking!?  _

 

He shakes his head, rubbing his arms as he averts his gaze back to the river. 

 

_ Stop feeling this way, _ he chastises.  _ You can’t afford to feel this way. Not when we only have one sunrise left... _

 

**_Hey, Lance!_ ** he hears called, sighing when he glances back to find Keith on his back with the three wolves piled on top of him - which is  _ unfairly _ adorable. Critical hit. It takes all of his focus to even  _ hear _ the reason why he was called in the first place.  **_Come meet my pack!_ **

 

“Your...pack?” Lance repeats, grasping the distraction with both hands. Bizarrely, confusion is the preferable emotion, and he eagerly shoves aside the affection sprouting roots on his ribcage as he seeks clarification. "Like, they consider you their leader type pack?"

 

**_Yeah!_ ** Keith answers, huffing as he makes to stand. Kosmo and the others resemble puppies in comparison, and they act much the same - tails wagging and eyes bright as they attempt to lick Keith’s snout.  **_Well, sort of. I saved them from a trap a few years ago and we kind of bonded._ **

 

“From a trap?” Lance reiterates again, sounding like an infant learning to speak as his brows shoot upward. “What happened?”

 

**_I was out scouting,_ ** Keith explains as he lifts his head higher to avoid the licking,  **_and I came across these three in a net. They were only pups at the time - maybe half a season in age._ **

 

“But isn't trapping forbidden in your lands?” 

 

**_It is, yeah,_ ** Keith nods.  **_Which is why I was out in the first place. We had reports of hunters crossing the boundary seeking pelts._ ** He sighs then, eyeing the three wolves with a tender yet pained expression.  **_Their mother had been killed a week or so before, likely by the same people who set the trap to begin with. It was a miracle they were still alive._ **

 

"That's awful," Lance murmurs, wondering which clan the hunters had been from. 

 

_ Hopefully not mine...I don't think I could live with the guilt. _

 

**_They wore no colours,_ ** Keith says softly, as if knowing Lance's thoughts. Somehow he always seems to know.  **_They were just ruffians seeking their fortunes._ **

 

"How do you know?" 

 

Keith shrugs - a gleam passing over his eyes as his tone takes on a dry humour.

 

**_They left a pretty good reminder. And mother made sure they regretted it - returning the favour so we all matched the day of their trial._ **

 

Lance frowns, but it doesn't take him long to decipher what Keith is referring to.

 

"Brighid be blessed," he gasps, hand moving to the same cheek as Keith's scar, recalling the brief comment about protecting wolves that had been given when he'd first asked about it. "Is that how you got that mark?" 

 

The direwolf nods, paw lifting to brush against his face.

 

**_Let's just say they weren't too thrilled to find me escaping with their trophies._ **

 

"I can't believe they would attack you!" Lance fumes, shoulders tense as his anger takes hold. "And you were just a kid! How is that even  _ allowed?!" _

 

**_To be fair,_ ** Keith chuckles,  **_I was a pretty rude kid. Thought I could take on the world and everyone in it. There may have been some...foul language used that got me in more trouble than planned._ **

 

"That still doesn't give them the right to hurt you. And it could have been so much worse! They could have  _ killed you!" _

 

Keith grunts in agreement, golden brows tilted as he stares down at the three now bickering amongst themselves at his feet. 

 

**_People do awful things when it comes to wolves._ **

 

"Maybe, but they also do amazing things," Lance answers without thinking, and he's caught in Keith's eyes when they snap up to his face. "You  _ saved _ them. You risked your own wellbeing for their sakes. You protected these wolves, Keith, a feat not many can claim."

 

There's a long beat of silence that follows his remarks, in which they continue to stare at one another as a light breeze passes through the branches. But eventually, Keith smiles, bowing his head bashfully as his tail wags.

 

**_You would have done the same._ **

 

_ I don't think so,  _ Lance confesses, swallowing thickly as his face heats and he turns away. He wants for Keith to be right - to agree and state that yes: he  _ would _ have done the same. But he questions the truth of such words. Had he been in Keith's position back before he knew anything but fear and hatred towards wolves, would he have stopped to free them? Would he have faced the trappers and stood up for the pups? Would he have saved them? 

 

 ** _You would have,_** Keith whispers with certainty, answering Lance's unspoken doubts - an ability Lance is beginning to rely on for reassurance. **_I know you would have. Now come meet them!_**

 

"Uh…" Lance blinks at the abrupt change in topic, gaze darting down as the wolves turn his way. Despite the confidence in Keith’s tone, they’re still big animals capable of tearing him apart if they wish to. “I think I’ll stay here, thanks.”

 

**_Ah, come on! They won’t hurt you!_ **

 

“That’s not-” but he breaks off when he realizes his denial isn’t convincing, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he eyes the biggest of the wolves. And he’s not  _ scared _ , exactly. Unnerved, maybe, but with Keith there, it’s not fear he feels so much as hesitation, and not because he’s worried he’ll be attacked. 

 

Rather, what has him lingering by the edge of the river is the risk of disapproval. Of opposition. His family made a name for themselves by  _ hunting _ and  _ killing _ wolves. How can Lance just casually forget that? What gives him the right to ask forgiveness, much less friendship?

 

_ They may not hurt me, but what have I done to return the favour?  _

 

**_Just try,_ ** Keith urges, and Lance can no longer hide his true thoughts.

 

“But...what if they don’t like me?”

 

Keith’s ears perk - head pulling back in surprise. 

 

**_Why wouldn’t they?_ **

 

“Because I’m-” but he falters, excuse falling short as he realizes he doesn’t exactly have a way to put it into words. 

 

_ Because of who I am? Because of how I reacted to them initially? Because they trust you and you trust them and I’m just a stranger who means nothing at all?  _

 

There are a multitude of reasons, but he can’t bring himself to speak - mouth opening and closing until finally he averts his gaze back to the river with a drawn-out sigh. 

 

“Because I don’t deserve it,” he whispers, biting the inside of his mouth in shame. A brief pause follows - in which Lance closes his eyes and wraps his arms around himself tighter - and then something soft and warm presses against the back of his hand. 

 

He flinches, but Keith’s words are tender and consuming as his head nuzzles against Lance’s side - having moved away from the three wolves now watching them closely

 

**_I can think of no one more deserving than you._ **

 

His mind goes blank as Keith draws back - swept away in those deep maroon eyes and imagining the gentle smile that would accompany such a statement. But even so, he wants to refuse. To debunk the sincerity of such words, or else beg the question  _ why.  _ However, with the connection of thoughts to vocal cords malfunctioning, Lance can do nothing but splutter noiselessly as the direwolf moves to nudge him closer to the trio patiently waiting. 

 

**_They’ll love you, I promise,_ ** he hears hummed as his feet dig into the ground. But no amount of effort can compete against Keith’s strength, and all at once Lance finds himself immediately in front of the biggest of the wolves - who stands to eye him with an intensity that doesn’t exactly scream familiarity. 

 

And remarkably, he finds his voice. 

 

“Wait, Keith! I don’t think this is a good-” but he’s cut off as Regris lowers his body to the ground - teeth bared as he growls deeply. Lance bites his tongue - body tensing despite Keith appearing at his side.

 

**_Regris, it's okay. He's with me._ **

 

"I don't think he can understand you," Lance observes, shamelessly tucking himself closer to Keith as the brown wolf continues to stare him down. "Right? Unless you can hear them-"

 

**_I can't, no,_ ** Keith answers, but his head tilts as he ponders the situation more.  **_But I can sort of_ ** **sense** **_that they know what I'm saying. Like how dogs seem to communicate without barking all the time, you know?_ **

 

“There’s a pretty big difference between wolves and dogs.”

 

**_Minor details,_ ** Keith muses, turning back to Lance with a cheeky grin.  **_But if you're that worried you can keep holding onto me until you feel safe enough to let go._ **

 

“I wasn’t-” Lance starts, cutting off when he sees his hands gripping fistfuls of Keith’s fur. He pulls back abruptly, face blazing as he puts a few steps between them. “Just...tell me what to do.”

 

**_Start by slowly holding out your hand,_ ** Keith explains after a short, self-satisfied chuckle.  **_You want to get them familiar with your scent._ **

 

“Can’t they already smell me?” 

 

**_Yeah,_ ** the direwolf shrugs,  **_but this way they know your intentions. Don’t move too fast though, otherwise you’ll be seen as a threat._ **

 

Lance halts - hand halfway extended freezing at Keith’s warning. He turns back with raised brows, communicating his distaste at hearing such a thing. 

 

“And what happens if they see me as a threat?”

 

Purple eyes dart sideways in feigned nonchalance.

 

**_Then I’ll be here to protect you._ **

 

“Hmm, right,” Lance grunts, expression doubtful as he returns his attention to the brown wolf. It watches him without blinking, front paw moving forward ever so slightly to rest in what Lance assumes to be a more convenient pouncing position. 

 

_ This is crazy, _ he scolds, fingers shaking as he holds his hand out vulnerably away from his body.  _ What am I doing?! What’s my goal here? To  _ not _ get bitten by a wolf?! _

 

**_Calm down,_ ** Keith murmurs, sitting now as he guides Lance through the steps.  **_Keep your movements fluid and try not to make too much eye contact. He’ll see it as a challenge._ **

 

“Keith-” 

 

**_You’re doing great,_ ** he’s interrupted before his complaint can be completed.  **_Now try saying something to him._ **

 

“Oh, of course. I’ll just ask about the weather, shall I?” Lance huffs, ignoring Keith’s resulting laughter. 

 

**_You know what I mean. Don’t you ever talk to the dogs back at your home?_ **

 

“Yes,” Lance answers swiftly. “But usually it’s to egg them on in a hunt, which isn’t something I really wanna encourage right now.”

 

Another short laugh, and Lance can sense the eye-roll without actually seeing it. 

 

**_How about you start by saying his name._ **

 

“Will he even know it?”

 

**_Lance-_ **

 

“Okay, fine. I’ll say his name,” Lance groans, rubbing his fingers together as he bends his knees slightly. He clears his throat, feeling immensely stupid as he attempts communicating with the wolf. But Keith is right behind him expecting nothing less, so with a deep breath, Lance begins. “Uh...hey, Regris. You’re looking awfully, um... _ threatening _ this fine morning.”

 

Brown ears twitch - Regris sinking lower in response. Lance swallows dryly, peeking back at Keith.

 

“I don’t think he liked that!” he hisses under his breath. 

 

**_That’s because he can sense your sarcasm._ **

 

“My-  _ no he can’t!” _

 

**_How do you know?_ **

 

“Because he’s a wolf-” but Lance doesn’t finish his sentence. A low growl sneaks passed Regris’s mouth, effectively reminding Lance what he’s dealing with. “Woah, hey buddy,” he backtracks, holding his other hand out in surrender. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

 

Regris doesn’t seem to care, as he raises up and begins approaching without hesitation.

 

“Okay now!” Lance squeaks, legs unstable as he tries to move back to Keith. “Let’s be reasonable about this, yeah? You seem like a perfectly nice wolf. Kind, even! I’m sorry if I offended you in any way!” 

 

But still, the wolf draws closer, eyes glued to a spot near his throat.

 

_ He’s sizing me up! Aiming for the jugular! I knew this would end badly!  _

 

“Keith!” he manages to whine as his hands move up to his face - all thoughts of fluid movement forgotten while his eyes squeeze shut. “Help-!”

 

**_With what?_ ** Keith asks after an excruciatingly long moment - tone humoured and teasing.  **_The big bad wolf trying to attack you?_ **

 

Lance pauses - body defrosting as the anticipated mauling he’d been preparing for fails to occur. He moves his hands away from his face, peeking through his lashes to see Regris no longer before him. 

 

“Wha-” 

 

He spins when Keith laughs, spotting the brown wolf crouched by the river for a drink - having moved passed him in complete and utter ignorance of his presence. 

 

_ What?! _

 

He frowns back at Keith - now snorting as a giant paw is tossed over his snout. 

 

**_See?_ ** he manages once calm enough to speak.  **_Nothing to worry about._ **

 

“Nothing to- he looked ready to  _ eat me!” _

 

**_But he didn’t,_ ** Keith points out, reassurance spotty at best.  **_That’s just how Regris is. He does this whole intimidation thing - the staredown, the growling, the slow approach...it’s his way of making friends._ **

 

“Oh, and you didn’t think to  _ warn  _ me first?!” 

 

**_Ah…_ ** the direwolf shrugs - though it lacks any genuine guilt.  **_Guess I forgot. But hey, at least he accepted your apology. You didn’t need my help at all._ **

 

“Morrigan take you,” Lance curses, folding his arms over his chest in embarrassment. 

 

_ Why did I have to call out his stupid name?! _

 

**_Try Thace next!_ ** Keith urges, either oblivious to or choosing to ignore Lance’s pouting.  **_He’s friendlier._ **

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

**_He is! I promise._ **

 

Lance hesitates for a few seconds, but his resolve is weak, and with a loud groan he turns back to the remaining two wolves, using the same approach as before. It’s weird, but now that he’s survived one introduction, his confidence is building. And when the skepticism and fear dissipate to a more tolerable level, Lance finds himself almost  _ eager _ to meet the wolves. It’s like he wants to prove himself in some way - that he  _ can _ earn their trust and affection - especially now that Regris so rudely pretended he didn’t exist. 

 

His ego is hurt, and with Keith’s eyes keeping watch behind him, Lance feels the pressure to do better. To show the Kogane that he’s worthy of having the wolves approach. To put some solidity in the statement the boy had so assuredly made. 

 

_ If he thinks I deserve to be liked by them, then I have to prove it to myself first, _ he decides firmly, crouching now as he edges towards the wolf with the white paws. 

 

“Hey there, Thace,” he begins, more sure of his voice this time around. “I like your socks. They’re quite fashionable.” 

 

The wolf tilts its head curiously but makes no effort to come closer as Regris had. Lance frowns, shuffling forward with his hand still extended. 

 

“I won’t bite if you won’t.”

 

**_Cute,_ ** Keith comments - tone unbearably soft - and Lance flushes as he turns back to send the direwolf a glare.

 

“I’m trying to focus here!” he scolds, and though Keith bows his head to convey his apology, his expression is no less enamoured. 

 

**_Right, sorry. Keep doing what you’re doing._ **

 

_ What, acting a fool? _ Lance thinks scornfully, but it doesn’t stop him from raising the pitch of his voice to a more playful tone.

 

“Come here, Thace! Come on boy! You want some pets? You want some scratchies?” 

 

Keith coughs - the noise sounding more like a hastily covered laugh as Thace sniffs the air and promptly darts away, retreating behind the smaller silver wolf and leaving Lance without a shred of self-esteem.

 

“Thace  _ why?!” _

 

**_He’s shy, that’s all,_ ** Keith muses, making Lance wonder what sort of human expression would match the glee in his voice.  **_He can be skittish around me as well, depending on the day._ **

 

“You know, you really gotta tell me these things  _ before _ I put my heart and soul into greeting them.”

 

**That** **_was your heart and soul?_ **

 

"Hey," Lance grumbles, jutting out his lower lip. "I'm new at this, remember? I'm not some wily northerner who used to run around the Spurs making friends with all the wildlife. The only animal I talk to is my horse, and she's  _ trained _ ."

 

**_Pfft,_ ** Keith's ears flick backward in an aloof manner.  **_First of all, I didn't befriend every wild critter I stumbled upon. I never trusted squirrels, and wolverines are absolutely_ ** **nasty** **_to deal with. Secondly, taming wolves isn't allowed. So of_ ** **course** **_I never tried._ **

 

Lance raises a brow at that, detecting a hint of waiver in Keith's voice as he trails off. 

 

“But  _ training _ isn’t the same as taming.”

 

**_It’s- I mean...I didn’t do either!_ **

 

"So you...never taught them any tricks?" Lance pries, propping his chin on his hands. "Wasn't ever tempted to smarten them up? Make them obedient? Have one as a pet?"

 

Keith scoffs, though he avoids his gaze as he answers. 

 

**_No! Of course not-_ **

 

"Right. Hey Kosmo," Lance calls out suddenly, smirking when the silver wolf perks at his name. "Sit." 

 

It's an immediate reaction - Kosmo's rear end sinking to the ground as he eagerly obeys the command. Lance feels himself smirk, all too satisfied when a long, pink tongue slips passed the wolf's mouth, reminding him of his father's hounds loyal at his side, waiting for their next order.

 

He turns back to Keith without changing his expression, and is met with an uncanny look of dismay. 

 

**_Uh..._ ** the direwolf begins slowly, lowering himself to the ground as he meets Lance's eyes.  **_I wonder where he learned that from?_ **

 

"Maybe it was just a fluke?" Lance suggests, enjoying Keith's unease. 

 

**_Definitely a fluke._ **

 

"Let's try something more complicated then, shall we?"

 

**_Wait-_ **

 

"Kosmo!" Lance interrupts, whipping back to face the wolf. "Can you...roll over?" 

 

He can, as it turns out, and Lance giggles victoriously while pointing at the display that follows. 

 

"Oh wow! Who taught him  _ that?" _

 

**_I can explain-_ **

 

But Lance doesn't wait to hear it. He's having fun now, and watching Keith writhe in embarrassment is gratifying after being laughed at for his failures with Regris and Thace. 

 

And maybe he's being childish. Maybe he's acting less like a prince and more like a brat, but Lance isn't exactly bothered. Knowing now that Keith broke one of his kingdom's oldest laws just makes him more relatable. More  _ human _ , despite his current exterior. 

 

_ I can't believe he went against tradition just to teach a wolf to roll over. What sort of madman does that?! _

 

One that Lance approves of, apparently, as his smile only grows as he goes down a list of tricks Keith may have taught the silver wolf in defiance of the rules. 

 

"Kosmo, lay down!"

 

Check.

 

"Kosmo, play dead!"

 

He does, and Lance is clapping.

 

"Amazing! Kosmo, fetch?"

 

**_He doesn't know that one- um..._ ** Keith breaks off when Lance glances back his way, pretending to take an interest in a nearby flower and block off his thoughts with idle observations.  **_What a smart wolf, knowing all these completely natural wolf things that wolves one hundred percent do all the time in the wild._ **

 

"Subtle," Lance snorts, before trying something else. "But in that case, Kosmo, come!"

 

**_Oh, don’t-!_ **

 

But Keith's warning is too late, as is Lance's realization that perhaps summoning the wolf his way isn't the wisest course of action - especially now that it’s riled up and expecting a reward for all the hard work.

 

“Wait, no-!” Lance tries, arms held up and out as Kosmo comes bounding over. It doesn’t help that he’s already sitting on the ground - putting him at a disadvantage in terms of escaping - and the young wolf wastes no time jumping directly into his lap.

 

Or, that’s where he  _ would _ have ended up, were Lance’s lap wolf compatible. As it turns out, the only way he’s able to handle the abrupt armful of fur and limbs is by falling backward and shielding his face from the immediate onslaught of licking Kosmo subjects him to. 

 

Wet, slobbery drool that smells like any other type of dog breath coats his exposed skin, and Lance can do nothing but accept the kisses. The few times he tries to open his mouth to call for help from Keith is quickly intercepted by a tongue eager to lick inside, leaving Lance with nothing but a muffled scream to work with.

 

“Hmph-!” he tries, but Kosmo’s weight has the sound coming out more like a gasp than anything. Which doesn’t matter much, it turns out, seeing as Keith makes no move to rescue him. Ripe laughter fills the inside of Lance’s head - loud and full-bodied - interspersed with words that struggle to form of a sentence. 

 

**_HA! Serves you right-!_ ** Is what Lance deciphers from the chaos of buffoonery that are Keith’s thoughts.  **_Good boy Kosmo! Give Lancey_ ** **all** **_the love!_ **

 

“No-!” Lance manages to shout, but the word barely makes it out before his lips are sealing shut to keep from choking on wolf spit. 

 

_ Gah! Get off! I’m suffocating here! _

 

His garbled attempts at communication must finally be pitied, as Keith’s laughter cools to sparse chuckles, and a low bark has Kosmo sitting back with his head facing the direwolf. 

 

**_That’s enough buddy,_ ** Keith hums, standing and approaching to nudge the wolf off. Lance scurries upright once free of the weight - desperately wiping his face and coughing up several strings of foreign saliva before shooting a glare into humoured indigo eyes. 

 

“Thanks for that,” he glowers sarcastically, but Keith doesn’t take his tone to heart.

 

**_I like the new hairstyle,_ ** he comments, gesturing to Lance’s forehead where his bangs are poking up at all angles from slobber.  **_Really gives you that rugged look you’ve been after. Especially coupled with your new badass scar._ **

 

“Oh, aren’t _ you _ the jester!” Lance huffs, rising to his feet to dunk his head in the river. It’s freezing, but well worth it, and when he shakes himself free of the excess water, he sees Kosmo now playing with Thace a little way off - having lost interest now that the commands have stopped. “Well,” and he smiles, oddly relieved, “at least  _ one _ of them liked me.”

 

**_They all liked you,_ ** Keith answers without pause.  **_Just like I knew they would._ **

 

“Um, I don’t know what your definition of ‘like’ is, but I was totally ignored by the other two!” 

 

**_Which is a form of liking,_ ** Keith explains sincerely.  **_If they_ ** **didn’t** **_like you, they would have made it known._ **

 

Lance pales at that, glancing over his shoulder to spot Regris now curled up by a tree. He’s ever-vigilant, and a shiver runs down Lance’s arms when their eyes meet.

 

“That’s not entirely comforting,” he murmurs under his breath, but Keith only shrugs. 

 

**_Just give them time. They’ll warm up to you._ **

 

“What, in the sunrise we have left?” 

 

He doesn’t realize what he’d said until he watches Keith’s ears droop - tail falling and eyes shifting the ground - but in the few seconds it takes for Lance to connect the dots, the atmosphere around them changes. What was once a light, happy reunion is now a dark cloud over their heads. A memory - possibly one of their last - that they’ll likely only have for a brief time. 

 

_ Oh, no…that’s not what I meant- _

 

Lance opens his mouth to apologize, but he chokes on the words, finding it impossible to amend what he’d said in any positive way. 

 

Because it’s the truth. They  _ do  _ only have one sunrise left. And as much as he wants to believe they’ll break Allura’s spell, they’re utterly lost. Trapped on the wrong side of the mountains. Neither of them knows why they’re here, or what brought them all this way, and with the sun crawling higher in the sky with each passing minute, finding the answers to all these questions is a quest they have no hope of completing. 

 

It’s time they face the truth: that Keith Kogane is-

 

_ I can't say it...I just can't. _

 

But refusing to admit the possibility of Keith vanishing from existence doesn't prevent it from happening, no matter how stubborn he wants to be.

 

“I’m sorry,” he hears himself mutter, voice carried by a breeze brought in on the river. He sees Keith look over in his periphery, but can’t bring himself to meet those eyes. “It should be me.”

 

There’s a long pause, and just when Lance is sure Keith won’t grace him with a response, he hears a tentative whisper cross his mind. 

 

**_I’m glad it’s not._ **

 

Which has Lance shaking his head, adding more guilt to his already weighted conscience.

 

“Of course you’d say that.”

 

**_Because it’s the truth,_ ** Keith’s voice is louder this time. Lance can hear his approach, though he keeps his gaze lowered when the direwolf’s shadow passes over him.  **_I know you may not think it, but I believe things were meant to happen this way. I’m like this for a reason. We’re_ ** **here** **_for a reason. We’re...we’re together for a reason._ **

 

“But what  _ is  _ that reason?” Lance challenges, ignoring the way his pulse stutters and his ears burn as he finally returns Keith’s stare. “Even if you’re right and the universe has some grande scheme in store for us, without knowing  _ why _ , we’re useless! We have nothing to go off of, no inkling of a clue, and less than a  _ day _ to put everything back to the way it was!”

 

He turns then - back towards the river as a single tear slides down his face - letting his emotions colour his voice.

 

“So, I’m sorry, Keith,” he restates in a hush, “that I ruined your future because I couldn’t accept mine. I should be the one faced with eternity as a wolf.”

 

Silence grows between them - thick and heavy and riddled with remorse - but Lance doesn’t break it. It’s a feeling he should grow accustomed to, seeing as it’ll only get worse once the next sun rises and those purple eyes he’d grown so fond of disappear forever. 

 

_ I deserve this, _ he thinks, jaw clenched and heart throbbing.  _ I deserve this, not him. I- _

 

But his thoughts are interrupted as something soft brushes against his hand, and Lance sighs sadly - half expecting to see Keith there at his side. Only, it’s silver fur his fingers sink into, not gold and grey, startling him out of his sorrow.

 

Because it’s Kosmo who stares up at him, eyes round and searching as they scan over his face. It’s Kosmo who presses closer with one paw raised, uncaring that they’d only just met. And it’s Kosmo who whines softly when Lance’s hand remains motionless against the top of his head - urging him to seek solace in the smoothness of his coat. 

 

So he slowly lifts his palm, running it back a short distance from Kosmo’s brow to just behind his ears, and like magic his worries wane, replaced by an inexplicable comfort. It’s therapeutic - petting the wolf - and the corners of Lance’s mouth twitch upward in bittersweet appreciation, even as his vision blurs with unshed tears. 

 

“Hi,” he murmurs on an exhale, and then Keith is there too, resting his head against Lance’s shoulder. 

 

**_You see?_ ** he whispers gently, hiding the brokenness of his voice with more words.  **_Even if I’m gone, you can still change things. You can help them. You have the power to be the voice for those without. You-_ **

 

“Wait,” Lance interrupts abruptly, pulling back to stare at Keith as he furrows his brows. “Say that again.”

 

**_Oh, are you starting to like my compliments now?_ **

 

“ _ ‘The voice for those without’ _ ...” he mutters, ignoring Keith’s comment to peer down at Kosmo. “Why does that sound familiar…”

 

**_What do you mean?_ **

 

But Lance doesn’t answer - too caught up in his thoughts to spare Keith an explanation.

 

_ Voice for those without…where have I heard that before?  _ His eyes move along the river, heading upstream and landing on Regris.  _ I swear I’ve heard that before- _

 

A breeze catches his cloak, sending a chill down his neck as it plays with his damp hair, but Lance doesn’t feel it. His focus is entirely on the brown wolf still watching him from his spot by the tree, only...his eyes are different. They're no longer dark and foreboding, but rather an unusual shade of yellow.

 

Maybe even orange?

 

_ No! _ Lance realizes with a jolt.  _ They’re amber! _

 

He’s struck with a strange déja vu as Regris’s coat shifts to bright white - body growing in size as the wind rips around them. And suddenly it’s no longer one of Keith’s pack he’s staring at, but another wolf he’d only just recently met.

 

_ Honerva! _

 

_ “Free him,” _ he hears implored all around, following Honerva’s gaze as she turns back towards the forest - down the path that would take them back to the ocean. Back to the isles.

 

Back to-

 

_ “Free him!” _

 

And just like that she’s gone - Lance tossed back into reality as a slightly unnerved Regris shakes and walks away. But he doesn’t linger on what he’d just experienced. Doesn’t question the legitimacy of it all. Doesn’t even bother trying to explain how it all makes sense. 

 

Because the point of the matter is that it  _ does! _ He  _ gets  _ it! And though there are still huge fragments of understanding missing from the overall image of what their reason for being here is, Lance knows a hint when he sees one.

 

_ Thank you! _ he calls out to the wind - to the wisps and the wolves and the wandering fae.  _ Thank you! I think I know what to do! _

 

“Keith!” he shouts all at once, spinning on his heel towards the direwolf. “I had a dream!”

 

**_Uh- like, just now, or…?_ **

 

“We were here,” Lance goes on eagerly, rushing back to their camp. “At the isles, I mean. I was there, and  _ you _ were there, only as a human and not a wolf-”

 

**_Wait, you dreamt about me?_ ** Keith questions as he hurries after, watching Lance bend to collect their things.  **_Was it a good dream?_ **

 

Lance doesn’t answer, instead continuing his reiteration of the images he’d seen. 

 

“But then you disappeared and I couldn’t get to you and another wolf showed up and took me to the Shards on her back-”

 

**_Hold up,_ ** Keith grunts suddenly, stepping on Lance’s bow and preventing him from picking it up.  **_Another wolf?! Who was it? And why were you riding on their back-_ **

 

“That’s not the point!” Lance huffs, rolling his eyes and tugging his weapon out from under the massive paw. “I mean, I think it was Honerva but-”

 

**_Honerva?! Like, Zar of clan Kon’s wife, Honerva?! Why was she in your dream instead of me!_ **

 

“Keith! _ Listen!” _

 

The direwolf falters, ears flattening as he begrudgingly motions for Lance to go on.

 

“She showed me the isles  _ before _ they were ruins. I saw the castle that once was...the flags that used to hang from the towers. She told me to ‘free him’, and before I wasn’t sure what she meant, but now…” He trails off, securing his bow around his shoulder and snuffing out the remnants of their fire. “Now I think I know.”

 

**_Iverson’s arse,_ ** Keith groans after a moment, glancing back at Kosmo - who’d followed them over out of curiosity.  **_You aren’t suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?_ **

 

Lance only nods, grin wide as determination courses through his veins. 

 

“I think she wants us to go back there. Check out the ruins. See what we can find.”

 

**_I really don’t want to,_ ** Keith argues unexpectedly.  **_It's not a good place to linger, Lance. Bad things happened there. It reeks of evil!_ **

 

"Then you wait here. I'll go by myself and meet you back-"

 

**_Absolutely not!_ ** Keith growls, hackles rising and causing Kosmo to whimper.  **_There's no way I'd let you go there alone._ **

 

"I can handle it-"

 

**_I don't doubt that you could! But those islands aren't normal, Lance. They're tainted with bad magic, remember? I could never live with myself if something happened to you-_ **

 

"You'd forget it in a day regardless!" Lance fires back, patience wearing thin despite sympathizing with Keith's reasoning. But they don't have time to debate the issue. They  _ have  _ to go. Which means facing the facts.

 

"If we do nothing, Keith, then you're basically accepting that you'll die. That you'll become this direwolf and never return to your family, or your friends, or-" and he gestures over to Kosmo, now curled up on the moss beds where they'd slept, "or your  _ pack!  _ You wouldn't remember anything, or anyone!"

 

**_You don't know that-_ **

 

"That's what Romelle told us! And Allura as well, to an extent. And even if they were wrong, is it worth the risk? Are you really willing to sit here and wait for tomorrow to come when we could fix this?!"

 

**_I just don't know if going back there based on a dream is the right course of action! We should go with your first plan and meet with your father. It's safer._ **

 

"I thought you said it felt like we should be here!" Lance grumbles furiously. "That something  _ brought  _ us here on purpose. That there's a  _ reason!" _

 

**_Yes, but that reason isn't to snoop around the forbidden Keep!_ **

 

"How do you know?!"

 

**_Because the Isles are dangerous!_ ** Keith readily retorts. **_What if you get hurt? What if the tide comes in and we get stuck there? What if the next sun rises and I end up hurting you because you're trapped in ruins that have no business being explored!?_ **

 

Lance falters, watching the enormous wolf shrink away from his gaze - words echoing harshly in his head. But he can't rebuke them. Not if it's how Keith really feels. What he fears...

 

_ Even when his life is at stake, he's still only concerned about me… _

 

So Lance unclenches his fists, relaxes his shoulders and reigns in his temper, dropping his voice to a calmer octave.

 

“Listen, I know you have reason to be scared, but I'll be fine. It's  _ you _ who won't be if we do nothing. And besides, we're too far from my father to even fathom going back. This might be our only hope, Keith,” Lance pleads weakly, stepping forward to place his hands on either side of the direwolf’s face. He stares into alarmed merlot eyes, watching black pupils dilate until only a thin ring of colour is left. 

 

“We need to try.  _ Please,”  _ he confides, inhaling deeply to steady himself. 

 

**_I don't know-_ **

 

But Lance doesn't let him finish - leaning forward until his forehead rests against Keith's - ignoring the hitch in breath he feels from the latter as he changes tactics, revealing his more selfish reason in hopes they convince the stubborn Kogane.

 

"I don't want to watch you forget yourself," he begins, keeping his eyes shut to prevent himself from wavering. It's personal information he's divulging, and his cheeks burn as he goes on. "I don't want to return home and have to explain to your mother why you won't be coming back. I don't want to sit at my window and hear the hunting horns gather the clans to kill the direwolf they'll inevitably hear about, knowing who he once was, knowing it's my fault he's that way."

 

His hands stroke down Keith's cheek, relishing in their velvety feel, and with a shaky inhale he lets his most confidential reason free.

 

"I...I don't want to lose you, Keith. Not yet."

 

It takes a moment - a  _ long _ moment - but eventually, Lance hears Keith exhale slowly, and when he finally speaks it's with conviction: earnest and decisive.

 

**_You won't._ **

 

"Then come with me."

 

Keith deflates under his palms - body less tense as he pulls back to meet Lance’s gaze - voice thoughtful yet resigned as he provides his answer. 

 

**_Fine. But you need to stay by my side the whole time, okay? The ruins are unstable, and no one really knows what's underneath. You have to promise to listen to me and agree to leave if things look dicey, go it?_ **

 

"Alright-"

 

**_Promise me._ **

 

He’s reluctant, Lance can tell. Maybe even a little scared. And it's nerve-wracking seeing his fearless, brave direwolf so hesitant, but Lance can't back down now. Not when he can make things right. Not when they have a chance.

 

_ I won't watch you disappear, Keith. I refuse.  _

 

“I promise,” he nods and steps back, turning towards the path that leads away from the river and the safety of the trees. But it’s where they need to be. Where they need to go. Where they might have a hope of preventing Keith’s change. And that’s worth any potential risk that may await on those abandoned rocks. So Lance begins to walk, motioning for Keith to follow with a wave of his hand. 

 

“Now, let’s go back to the Isles of Kon.” 

 

* * *

 

They lose Kosmo and the other two wolves not long after they head out - Keith stating they're smart in keeping a distance as the sound of the ocean grows louder. Lance just keeps to himself, trying to remain courageous as the ruins come into view.

 

They're no less imposing during the day - more so even, considering every detail is better illuminated. Lance sees pillars of stone that once rose into towers. He spots the skeletons of walls that ring ancient courtyards. Doorways that once hosted elaborate carvings stand empty, and windows of stained glass are broken and dull.

 

It's chilling - especially when he notices how similar the ruins are to what he'd seen in his dream, and he can easily imagine the castle that once was standing stoic and picturesque on top of those ocean rocks. 

 

_ It's almost tragic that this place was left to rot, _ he laments as the trees thin and the ground grows softer.  _ It looked to be a stronghold at one point. And a beautiful place to live.  _

 

But then he spots a bridge - now visible in the low tide - broken and worn and precarious as it spans from the edge of the sand out to the largest island, and he recalls the shadow that had emerged from the ocean to challenge the sky for dominance.

 

_ No wonder Keith's wolves chose to hang back... _

 

This place - no matter how lovely to look at - has a layer of unease thicker than the algae growing on its remains. Life is not meant to thrive here. Not anymore. Not after what happened. 

 

He shivers, and Keith pauses to glance over.

 

**_We can still turn back,_ ** he offers, a little too keenly.  **_If I run fast enough we might be able to cross into your kingdom and-_ **

 

"No," Lance shakes his head, brushing aside his wariness. "We're going over there."

 

Keith huffs with disapproval, but he doesn't say anything - turning towards the start of the freshly revealed pathway across the water.

 

**_I guess it's somewhat convenient you remembered your dream when you did,_ ** he states after a moment, eyeing the expanse of slick stones they have to traverse to reach the islands.  **_An hour or so later and we would have missed the tides._ **

 

"Yeah, about that," Lance frowns in thought, eyeing the lavish outline of the bridge once hidden by the ocean. "Why design something so outlandish? Isn't it impractical to have the only way too and from the isles submerged for most of the day?"

 

**_They had boats,_ ** Keith shrugs, testing his weight on one of the rocks that used to be part of the structure.  **_But it was more for the aesthetic than anything. Relying on the moon to determine when the castle could be accessed is rather poetic, don't you think?_ **

 

Lance glances over at the direwolf with a sly smile, folding his arms over his chest as he does.

 

"I thought you hated this place."

 

**_Fear and admiration aren't synonymous, Lance,_ ** Keith answers, making his eye roll verbal.  **_And yeah, horrible things happened here, and Zar went mad in the end, but I won't deny his style._ **

 

"Hmph," Lance purses his lips, changing the subject by leaping up onto the bridge. It's slick, but he keeps his footing - hopping over cracks and divots and gaping holes in the foundation before turning back to Keith. "Regardless, we should hurry before the tide comes back in."

 

He doesn't wait for an answer, instead heading purposefully towards the isles and concentrating on where he steps. Keith follows a tad more carefully - several stones crumbling away as his weight is placed on them - keeping quiet with focus. 

 

It's slow going, but despite the constant threat of falling into the water, the ocean is relatively calm, and Lance knows their biggest risk is getting wet more than drowning as the ruins grow closer. 

 

That's about as far as his comforts go, however, before coming to an abrupt halt as they're faced with an elaborate gate - or what's left of one - blocking their way.

 

It's massive: iron wrought and delicately ordained with carved wolf heads peering down at them from atop the framework. Their eyes - perhaps once set with gems - follow Lance wherever he turns, as if possessed by the spirit of some watchful being. 

 

Finally, he averts his gaze, turning towards Keith with a shrug.

 

"Should we knock?" 

 

**_That's not how gates work,_ ** the direwolf answers, missing the joke entirely.  **_And even if it were, this place is abandoned. No one is here anymore._ **

 

"I know- gah. Nevermind."

 

He tries to find a way around the structure, but aside from the bridge behind them, all access onto the island is blocked by ocean or steep cliffside. The gate, along with the narrow set of steps leading towards the ruins, appears to be the sole entrance. 

 

_ Geesh, was this guy paranoid or something? _

 

"Still think this place is poetic?" he asks sarcastically, but Keith only shrugs, sniffing the iron with interest.

 

**_One gate means only one way in and one way out. Unless you have a boat._ **

 

"Which we don't," Lance points out. Keith bows his head in agreement.

 

**_Which we don't. But I can swim, if you wanna jump on my back and try looking for a port-_ **

 

"No need," Lance hurries to cut him off, wrapping his hands around the bars and giving them a firm push. And the gate - rusted and ancient as it is - swings open with surprising ease.

 

Well, more like  _ falls _ over with an unearthly whine that has Lance cringing and Keith hastily covering his ears with his paws, but the point remains that the way is cleared. Lance steps back as the metallic cry of vanquished craftsmanship echoes around them, brushing his hands together before gesturing Keith onward with a grin.

 

**_Way to alert the entire ocean we’re here,_ ** the wolf grunts - golden brows still furrowed from the noise. Lance only moves his hands to his hips.

 

“I thought you said this place was empty.”

 

 ** _Of anything_** **living,** **_yeah,_** Keith clarifies, lifting himself over the fallen gate with a daintiness that doesn’t quite match his exterior. **_But a lot of people died here. Zar included. The last thing we want is to wake up a bunch of restless ghosts._**

 

“Oh, so you believe in ghosts now?” Lance teases, watching his step to avoid cutting himself on the old iron. “Honestly Keith, you truly are multidimensional.”

 

**_I know you’re teasing me but I’m still taking that as a compliment._ **

 

Lance snorts, hiding his smile as he moves up the stairs towards what he assumes to be a courtyard. The remnants of archways surround elevated squared swatches of dirt forming a checkered pattern leading up to the main building, but they extend to the right and left of the wall for as far as Lance can see. He squints, tilting his head in an effort to discern their purpose, but Keith enlightens him with a stray comment.

 

**_It was said the gardens here were magnificent to behold._ **

 

“I bet,” Lance nods to himself as he pictures an array of flowers and vegetables growing in place of the dirt squares. They  _ would _ have been magnificent - given the area devoted to them - and he spots several circular pools with broken statues adorning their centers where fountains once stood. And as he lets his gaze drift around the ruins, he begins to catch hidden details in the architecture that distract from the decrepit first impressions. 

 

Runes are etched deep into the stone of the arches, forming prayers that Lance doesn’t know. Where parts of the main building are still standing, he sees carvings of dragons and bears and elk keeping watch from the towers. Glassless windows resemble leaves in their shape - running along the walls like some great vine that’s overtaken the castle. But maybe most impressive of all is the keep itself, where a dozen or so stone wolves in various states of disrepair form a line - a pack, really - on either side of the wide, double doors leading inside. Each is unique: chiseled with such detail that Lance thinks they  _ must _ have been living at one point, simply awaiting the command to wake from their slumber and hunt once again. 

 

He exhales with a low whistle, too impressed to be unnerved by their stare. 

 

“Who knew you northerners had such a taste for aesthetic design.”

 

Keith laughs beside him, shaking his head.

 

**_And I suppose you thought we all lived in wooden huts beneath the snow?_ **

 

Lance looks away guiltily, brushing his thumb over the hilt of Keith’s knife.

 

“Not  _ huts, _ per se,” he admits. “But certainly not  _ this. _ It’s on par with what you’d find in the Somerisles, or the great libraries of the Lowlands.”

 

**_And where do you think they got those ideas from?_ ** Keith challenges smugly, though his tone shifts to something softer after a moment.  **_But if you’re impressed by this, you should see the Kogane Keep. I mean, gardens are nice and all, but once you lay your eyes on the glass houses we use to grow food year-round, these simple arches will mean nothing._ ** He nudges Lance’s side playfully, winking when their eyes meet.  **_Plus our statues are bigger, so…_ **

 

“Well in that case,” Lance chortles, though his humour fades on his next exhale.

 

_ But seeing your home means succeeding here, _ he reminds himself, feeling his expression harden.  _ Which means going inside, not ogling the architecture.  _

 

So he moves towards the line of wolves purposefully, ignoring their watchfulness as his hands reach out to touch the wooden doors.

 

**_Wait, Lance! What if it’s unstable!_ ** Keith warns from behind him, ears flattening as a similar creak to the gate rings out from the hinges as Lance pushes inward. But it’s a deeper sound that reverberates around the courtyard - low and menacing and  _ old. _ It’s a sound that hasn’t been made in centuries, and Lance’s entire body trembles as the doors open with a wave of dust, revealing a dimly lit room engulfed in shadow. 

 

And then Keith is there - one leg shifting in front of him to form a protective barrier against the doorway as his ears flatten and his eyes remain attentive and unblinking. If Lance were less unnerved he may have protested the act of chivalry, but as it is, he scoots an inch or so closer to the direwolf and holds his breath. 

 

They wait until the dust settles, and then a minute longer just in case something decides to jump out at them, but unsurprisingly, nothing happens. Lance relaxes, placing a hand to Keith’s shoulder when he finds his guardian still tense and on edge. 

 

“You good?” he asks with a light chuckle - cut short when Keith turns his intense glare on him. 

 

**_What are you thinking, opening doors just like that?! You promised you’d listen to me!_ **

 

“I-” Lance falters, shocked by Keith’s tone. He’s angry.  _ Genuinely _ angry, and it’s mildly horrifying. 

 

 ** _What would you have done had the wall collapsed?_** he continues, hackles raised as he begins pacing. **_Or if the doors came unhinged and fell forward?! Or if there had been a trap waiting to go off! You could have been impaled, or-or bludgeoned_** **_or_** **stabbed!**

 

“Okay, but I  _ wasn’t _ -”

 

**_That’s not the point!_ ** Keith interrupts. His expression is fierce, but it softens as he turns away, sighing heavily.  **_Look, you have to understand that this isn’t some circle of stones in the woods, or a witch’s hut you happened to stumble upon. This is a_ ** **real** **_place where lives were taken. People were killed, wolves were slain...it’s no longer built as a fortress. It’s a tomb, Lance. The tomb of a man who didn’t care what happened to those around him after he lost his family. And there’s a reason no one comes here. Tainted magic, remember? The whole place_ ** **reeks** **_of it._ **

 

_ It’s just a door, _ some part of Lance wants to respond, but seeing Keith so aggravated is sobering, so he shoves aside his nonchalance to admit his fault.

 

“Okay,” he murmurs, catching Keith’s vibrant eyes when they dart his way. “I’m sorry.”

 

It takes a moment, but the stiffness in Keith’s body eases, and when he sighs he does so in relief. 

 

**_I’m sorry as well. I didn’t mean to yell at you, it’s just-_ **

 

“No, you’re right,” Lance cuts in, waving his hand to brush aside his previous plans of barging in. “You know this place better than me. I’ll stay by your side.”

 

**_Thanks,_ ** Keith answers gently, turning his head back towards the gaping entranceway. He swallows thickly, and then takes a hesitant step forward. When nothing happens he takes another, then another, until both of them are standing in an immense foyer more extravagantly decorated than the gardens outside. 

 

Crystal shards hang from the ceiling like snowflakes - catching the light and throwing it across the room in dazzling rays of colour. Framed paintings cover nearly every exposed surface along the walls, and though they’re aged and dull now, Lance doesn’t doubt their splendor. Handsome sconces line the corridors, some with candles still intact, and expensive vases border every archway that leads to somewhere else within the castle. 

 

“Woah,” Lance breathes, eyeing three sets of railings that circle the main part of the room. They’re additional floors, though he sees no staircases to access them yet. Judging by the state of the towers outside, however, he doubts they’d host much but bats anymore. Still, it’s big. Bigger than he’d thought, and a small part of him begins to fret that they’ll never find what they’re looking for in a place so massive, especially since they don’t even  _ know _ what they’re looking for. 

 

**_Amazing,_ ** he hears Keith mutter beside him, face pointed upward to ogle the roof.  **_Look at the size of those support beams! It’s rare to find trees that big anymore…_ **

 

“Sure, yeah,” Lance agrees without really listening. His mind is elsewhere, repeating the message Allura had left them with, and the words Honerva had driven into his skull. 

 

_ Battles old, hearts to change, truth be told, free him...somehow these all connect. _

 

He’s about to ask Keith what he thinks when something catches his eye near the far wall. It had been a passing glint from one of the crystals above, but something reflected it - like glass or a mirror. He edges closer, spotting a raised dias hosting a single throne. The seat itself looks to be a collection of woven branches, or roots perhaps, that shoot up along the back wall and extend in all directions - like some great heart with arteries and veins. And though it’s breathtaking to behold, it’s not what Lance lingers on. 

 

Instead, his eyes wander to a single statue at its side, the shape vaguely familiar. 

 

“Hey Keith,” he whispers, but the direwolf is busy analyzing a nearby sword collection on display in a side room, and doesn’t hear. Lance rolls his eyes, judging the area safe if that’s how his bodyguard is behaving. 

 

“I’m just going to look at this for a second,” he informs regardless, moving closer to the dias. And as he does the shape of the statue begins to take the form of a wolf -  _ of course -  _ sitting vigilant beside the throne. Only, it differs from the other sculptures in that it’s not made of stone. It’s nearly transparent - giving off a faint glow in the low lighting - and shimmers as if made of water, or ice-

 

_ Wait a second, _ he stops, brows lowering as something sparks in his memory.  _ I’ve seen this before.  _

 

It doesn’t take him long to remember where. 

 

_ Morrigan take me, it was at Allura’s hut!  _ he gasps, recalling an identical statue that she’d apparently earned through trade. It’s an exact match, complete with life-like details and eyes that appear to follow. But more than that it’s made of ice - somehow unmelting. Eternally cold. 

 

_ So this is where it came from!  _ he concludes, making sense of the empty space on the other side of the throne.  _ They were a set at one point, but one was traded to Allura. Something shiny for a spell, but that would mean- _

 

_ No...could it?! _

 

“Keith!” he calls out, struck with a bizarre sense of vertigo as the pieces slot together. Because this is Zar of Kon’s castle, and if Allura got that statue from here then that means at some point in time they met. But when did that happen?! And  _ why?! _

 

_ What did he ask for in return? Which fate did he try to change? _

 

“Keith!” he yells louder this time, waving his arms over his head as the direwolf finally glances over. “I think I found- _ AH!” _

 

He’s cut off by the sensation of falling - foot stepping on some soft spot in the floor that gives way beneath him. His scream of panic is quickly overwhelmed by the sound of rubble crashing down - mouth filling with dust as he’s swallowed by the castle. His feet hit broken stone, but it’s slanted, and he ends up rolling his ankle before tumbling sideways into darkness. He comes to an abrupt stop by hitting into something solid - coughing violently to dislodge the powdered debris in his throat - and remains on his hands and knees until he’s able to properly breathe.

 

_ “Iverson’s arse!” _ he curses as pain launches up his leg, wincing when he tries to put weight on his foot. “What happened-”

 

**_LANCE?!_ ** Keith hollers in distress, head appearing in the hole Lance had made in the floor - his new ceiling - a good distance up.  **_ARE YOU OKAY?!_ **

 

“M’fine,” he manages to call back, coughing again as the dust settles around him. “Just fell through the floor I guess.”

 

**_Oh, I knew this would happen!_ ** Keith worries anxiously from above, backing away hurriedly when several more chunks of stone break away beneath his paws.  **_Now you’re trapped down there and I can’t get to you and you’re hurt and alone and_ ** **scared** **_-_ **

 

“I’m not scared,” Lance grunts, brushing the pebbles and dirt from his shoulders and hair. “And I’ll make it out just fine. There’s a pile of rubble I think I can climb up on. Just, give me a second.”

 

**_What? Why?! Are you HURT?!_ **

 

“I’m-it’s nothing-”

 

But Keith isn’t listening. 

 

**_LANCE! YOU SAID YOU WOULD STAY BESIDE ME!_ **

 

“You were looking at knives or something,” Lance huffs, massaging his ankle. It’s sprained, but not as badly as he first thought. He’ll be able to walk on it just fine once he wraps it, and he sets about cutting a strip off his cloak after removing his boot. “And it’s probably better this way. You would have fallen straight through way harder than me, and at least  _ I’m _ capable of using my hands to get back out. You would have been stuck down here with no way of escaping”

 

**_I would have found a way._ **

 

“You wanna prove that?” Lance fires back, regretting the heat in his words as he tightens the make-shift bandage. “Look, I’m fine. And more importantly, I think I found something.”

 

**_Can we talk about that_ ** **after** **_you’re safe up here?_ **

 

“Quit being so frantic,” Lance almost smiles, touched by Keith’s ambitious concern. “And all you have to do is look over at that throne.”

 

**_The...there’s a throne in here? And you didn’t think to tell me?!_ **

 

“I tried! You were too preoccupied with the pointy things to pay me any mind.”

 

**_They’re antiques!_ ** Keith chides, ears flicking as he leans over the edge of the hole.  **_And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous!_ **

 

“Jea-  _ as if!”  _ Lance scoffs, grateful that his flush won’t be visible in the darkness. “Anyway, it hardly matters. Just look at the statue beside the throne.”

 

Keith grunts but must do as asked, as his next question is relevant to what Lance had requested.

 

**_The one made of glass?_ **

 

“Yeah, only it’s not glass.”

 

**_Crystal?_ **

 

“Ice.”

 

**_Woah,_ ** Keith murmurs, turning back to where it sits.  **_But why is that important?_ **

 

“Because,” Lance groans as he stands, feeling the bruises begin to form along his spine. But his ankle is functional, and he goes about eyeing the room he fell into. “I saw the same one back at Allura’s. She told me she’d been given it in exchange for a spell.”

 

**_Are you sure?_ **

 

“Pretty sure.” 

 

**_But...that would mean-_ **

 

“I know,” Lance finishes, not finding anything of particular interest that will make his escape easier. He turns back to the pile of debris that had somewhat broken his fall, and then notices the wall that had stopped his rolling. “Oh, wait, there’s something else down here.”

 

**_What is it?_ ** Keith asks nervously, but Lance doesn’t answer right away. Because hanging on the wall he’d run into is a magnificent tapestry. Lance approaches it, tracing his fingers over the woven images in awe. 

 

A woman with white hair and amber eyes stares back at him - smile kind and sage. In her arms is a tiny wolf pup - also white and sleeping peacefully - and to their right is the body of a man, though the tapestry is ripped where his face would be. Lance frowns, reaching out to fold the torn piece back up. But he knows who he’ll see even before it fits back into place. 

 

A man with a wide grin, icy blue eyes, and dark black hair comes into view, and though Lance has no idea what Zar of clan Kon looked like, there’s no doubt in his mind that it’s him.

 

He seems friendly. Humourous.  _ Charming, _ just as Keith had said. But more than anything he looks happy. 

 

**_Lance?!_ ** Keith practically shouts.  **_What is it!?_ **

 

“It’s  _ them _ ,” he breathes, stepping back to better appreciate what the tapestry shows. 

 

**_Them?! Them who?!_ ** But Lance doesn’t hear him. His mind goes blank as he stares at the full image - seeing the tear for what it really is. Because it’s not just any random rip, as Lance had previously thought. No. What he finds himself gaping at instead is a massive claw mark - made obvious by the three identical lines tearing through the material further up - marring the image of the family.

 

Only...that’s not quite right. The marks only cross through Zar’s face, not touching the other two. And when Lance squints he sees the ripped fragments of a crowd standing behind the family: citizens, all smiling up at their king. Or, they would be anyway, were the tapestry still intact.

 

“Who would do such a thing?” he mutters to himself, and Keith whines pitifully.

 

**_Who?! Lance! Answer me, please? Who is it?_ **

 

_ It’s not ‘who’ so much as ‘what’... _ some part of him whispers, and the temperature of the room drops as another two pieces slot together. Lance edges away from the wall, foot hitting against something on the floor. He jolts at the touch, but it's just a rock. 

 

Or...maybe a stick? It has a weird shape to it - long and white and-

 

_ Morrigan take me, _ he freezes, goosebumps lifting the hairs on his arms as he realizes what it is.

 

_ A bone. _

 

Or  _ bones,  _ to be more accurate. Lance identifies several more scattered about the room where the light favours his vision - many small and unknown, but a few large enough to guess what they'd once been. 

 

Deer, birds, seals…

 

It's when he spots the grizzly skull that his nerves fizzle, not wanting to meet whatever creature had managed to take it down. He already knows it's big, if the claw mark through the tapestry is anything to go off of. But to best a  _ bear?  _ And drag its body back  _ here?! _

 

_ Or maybe it just fell through the floor like me and died happily in its sleep, _ an anxious voice offers, but Lance knows better than to trust it. Besides, he can see where the skull had been gnawed. 

 

“Hey, do you think Allura’s magic works the same regardless of who gets it?” he suddenly inquires, ignoring Keith’s question as he edges back to the hole. “Like, if someone had requested power,” he uses as an example, recalling what Allura had said about the last person to seek her out. “Do you think the spell would have done the same thing to them as it did to you?”

 

**_Uh...maybe?_ ** Keith guesses skeptically.  **_But wasn’t your spell meant to change your fate?_ **

 

“My mothers,” Lance corrects distractedly. “But wouldn’t you agree that asking for the ability to destroy those who had taken something from you is a form of changing your fate?”

 

 ** _Destroy...what?_** **_I mean, it’s possible, yes. Alteans love meddling with that kind of thing, but what could have been taken that would drive someone to want_** **this** ** _for themselves?_**

 

Lance takes his time in answering, staring back at the tapestry and the faces of the two woven in white. He scans the tears through the crowd and the king, putting piece after piece into the puzzle quickly taking shape, revealing a similar story to the one Keith had told, only with a slightly different - albeit darker - ending.

 

_ This has to be it though, _ his mind whirls.  _ The statue, the motive, the spell, the stories of direwolves that followed not long after Zar's demise...it all makes sense!  _

 

_ But he didn’t die a man! He changed his fate! He became-  _ but he trails off as something in the back of the room shifts - a shadow only slightly darker than the rest moving in his periphery. Lance spins, heart in his throat as his hands go to his bow. He has an arrow nocked in a blink - string taut as he aims into the void. 

 

**_What’s wrong?!_ ** Keith yelps, having watched the reaction from above.  **_Is everything alright..?_ **

 

“I don’t think this place is entirely abandoned,” Lance hushes, tightening his grip on the bow. He stares at the far side of the room, not daring to avert his gaze as the hair on the back of his neck stands straight in response to a pulse that’s not his own. 

 

He’s not alone down here.

 

**_La-_ **

 

But whatever Keith had been about to say is lost as the entire back wall lurches forward. Lance releases his arrow - rolling out of the way to avoid the impact, but when he turns back it’s not stone he sees, but a living shadow - black as night and big enough to make the room feel impossibly small. 

 

_ “Keith!” _ he screeches, nocking another arrow as the thing turns, and all the colour drains from his cheeks as he stares back into the face of his nightmare. The stories his mother would tell all come rushing back: a wolf with a hunger for men, impossibly huge and notoriously evil, with eyes of blood red to symbolize those who had tried and failed to face it. It should be impossible! It’s a myth, a fable, a howl in the distance, easily ignored and laughed at during the day. But there’s no denying what he sees, not with the great beast growling at him as it struggles to maneuver in the tight space of the room beneath the throne on the Isles of Kon. 

 

It’s the demon wolf Mac Tíre, and Lance feels like crying. 

 

**_RUN!_ ** he hears blaze through his thoughts, and his body reacts accordingly. Pain is forgotten as adrenaline courses in his veins - Lance releasing another arrow as Mac Tíre careens forward with his jaws wide and frothing. It hits, but does no damage, bouncing off the weathered head of the ancient direwolf and landing by the tapestry. Lance doesn’t hang around long enough to watch it though, clambering desperately up the rubble as something starving snaps at his feet. 

 

He doesn’t hear Keith screaming for him to hurry, or any of his own thoughts praying to whichever gods will listen. There’s only the drum in his ears - loud and consuming as the nightmare chases, only this time Lance doesn’t wake up to dream a more pleasant dream. 

 

Instead, he climbs - hand over hand, feet slipping dangerously on the unstable rocks - up and up until the pile ends and he’s at the top. But there’s still a substantial gap between him and the ceiling where Keith’s fearful face watches helplessly from above.

 

_ This is it, _ some pessimistic thought leaks through the haze in his head, hearing the heavy breathing and smelling the rotten breath of the monstrosity gaining ground behind him.  _ This is how I die.  _

 

But Keith doesn't appear to agree, and without speaking he reaches a paw down for Lance to grab. It’s a split-second decision - and even  _ that’s _ a stretch, given how decisions require some form of debate. But Lance does no thinking as he leaps blindly forward, trusting that Keith will save him.

 

And it’s as if time forgets how to work. Lance feels every fiber of his body stretch - every muscle pull and will him upward. The world around him grows silent, like being caught in the eye of a storm, and as his arms extend as far as he can make them, some small, easily ignored part of him imagines  _ this _ is what it must be like to fly for the first time. It’s not riding on Keith’s back, or standing atop Marmora’s Blade with his arms outstretched, but  _ this.  _ Falling in the hopes that gravity won’t win.

 

It’s to seek the skies as the earth calls him back. To ignore the ground as he reaches the peak of his trajectory. To taste bile in his throat as he begins his descent.

 

_ This _ is what flying would be like, hoping his wings wouldn't fail him as he tumbles down. Only, Lance doesn’t have wings.

 

But he  _ does  _ have Keith, which is almost the same thing.

 

Better, even.

 

The forever moment passes, and Lance’s arms wrap around a thick paw with a vice grip. He swings forward and then feels the air shove passed his face as Keith lifts him out of the room - just in time to avoid the claws that reach out to snatch him. 

 

As it is the ends of his cloak are snagged, but their combined momentum is enough to offset the tug, and all Lance hears is the ghastly ripping of fabric that could very well have been his flesh. 

 

_ That was close! _

 

But that’s as far as his cognizant thoughts go. The adrenalin is back as Keith hoists him free of the hole, wasting no time in shoving him up on his back before sprinting from the keep. Lance digs his hands into thick fur, holding on for dear life when the ground behind them trembles and explodes as Mac Tíre shoves through. 

 

“GO GO _GO!”_ he shouts - voice breaking on the last word. But Keith doesn’t need to be told twice - picking up speed as they burst through the doors back into the courtyard. 

 

**_HOLD ON!_ ** he orders gruffly, and Lance can think of no reason not to. He tucks his head closer to Keith’s back, eyes watering as the wind whips by and tears at his clothing. He’s breathing heavily, but more out of terror than anything else, and as he glances behind them he sees the source of that terror rip through the doors with such ferocity that the hinges snap clean off - landing the wood in the nearest garden bed with a sickening thud. 

 

Mac Tíre’s gaze snaps to his, and it’s like being electrocuted. Lance can’t breathe, can’t swallow, can’t think. There are only those two red eyes sunk in a face with more scars than fur, and when they bore into him the light of the sun vanishes. He’s back in his nightmare, only the colossal shadow wolf who’d risen from the ocean now has a name.

 

“Hey Keith?” Lance’s voice wobbles in horror as the pitch-black beast begins the chase. He’s  _ much _ bigger than Keith - maybe twice the size at  _ least _ \- and his powerful legs carry him the length of one archway with ease, whereas Keith requires several steps. They’ll be overtaken in no time - eaten by something that shouldn’t exist. “I’m gonna need you to go faster…”

 

**_Don’t let go,_ ** he’s instructed immediately, as if Lance would even fathom such a thing. He lowers himself until his back is almost flat, making them more streamlined as Keith remarkably does as asked. Their surroundings blur - Keith clearing the fallen gate heading back to the ocean bridge in one leap. 

 

And despite the waves now crashing over the remaining stones leading back to shore, Keith keeps his footing, somehow managing to avoid the more perilous paths without losing any speed. 

 

But it’s still risky, and Lance foolishly thinks Mac Tíre will struggle to traverse the bridge given his bulk, perhaps falling into the water to give them a bigger lead. 

 

However, when he chances looking behind, he finds the direwolf only briefly hindered by the gate Keith had bypassed - which he picks up and tosses into the ocean as if it weren’t made of iron heavy enough to sink a small ship - before he’s landing deftly on the bridge threatened with the incoming tide. 

 

**_What is that thing?!_ ** Keith curses as he runs, unaware that it draws nearer. 

 

Lance reaches for an arrow, nocking it whilst still hunched over. 

 

"Mac Tíre! Only, it’s  _ not _ Mac Tíre. It’s  _ him!” _

 

**_WHO?!_ **

 

Lance’s entire body is shaking, biting the inside of his cheek as he watches the mighty direwolf clear massive portions of the bridge - picking up speed and devouring the distance between them. There’s no way they’ll make it at this rate. Not if he doesn’t do something.

 

_ But I can't hit him! His skull is too thick! It'll just bounce off and fall into the ocean- _

 

He pauses, an idea taking shape as his gaze shoots down to the direwolf's legs. They're moving quickly, but with a rhythm, and if Lance times it right he should be able to interrupt that pattern. 

 

Because he doesn't have to  _ stop _ Mac Tíre, only slow him down. 

 

_ And what better way to do that than with an untimely swim? _

 

So he sits up, draws back, and takes aim, answering Keith's question at the same time.

 

"Zar of clan Kon,” he exhales, releasing the arrow. It flies true, hitting exactly where he’d intended, and Mac Tíre -  _ Zar! - _ roars vociferously as it wedges itself deep in the padding of his front foot. Lance watches the direwolf tilt forward in pain, tripping over itself and slipping off the bridge with a tremendous splash. 

 

And he  _ almost _ celebrates, but the beast re-emerges not long after - soaked and struggling to get back onto somewhat solid ground as the waves pummel him relentlessly. But despite this, he gets his front legs back onto the structure, wasting no time in ripping the arrow from his paw and shooting a glare with physical impact Lance’s way - red eyes darkening with pure hatred as he heaves himself the rest of the way up. 

 

But the gap between is larger now - Keith reaching the sand and sprinting without pause towards the forest as Lance ducks back down with a smirk.

 

His victory is short-lived however, as a sudden, bone-chilling howl pierces the air, causing Keith to stumble and nearly fall. He manages not to, but his thoughts grow blurry and unfocused - broken and strained as his hackles rise in response to the cry.

 

**_No- what is...Lance-!_ **

 

The howling amplifies - Keith slowing drastically as he teeters dangerously to the side. Lance nearly slips off, fists clenching in fur as he tries to hoist himself back upright. But he catches sight of Keith’s eyes in the process - wide and terrified - and  _ that’s  _ like his dream as well. 

 

Purple fading to black as something cries out behind them - Mac Tíre’s howl echoing across the water. 

 

And-  _ wait...that’s it! _

 

Lance lurches forward, shoving his hands over Keith’s ears as the cry reaches its crescendo. The result is immediate -  Keith calming beneath him as he blinks himself back to awareness - and the thoughts that follow are the definition of relief. 

 

**_Lance!_ ** he gasps, not hearing the howl taper off behind them as he comes to a stop.  **_I was...I couldn’t stop it! I could feel myself slipping away and-_ **

 

“It’s not your fault,” Lance whispers, lifting one hand slightly so Keith can hear him. “I think it’s him. His howl...it was forcing you to change! To...lose yourself.”

 

**_How is that-_ ** but he cuts off as Mac Tíre roars in evident irritation, continuing the pursuit with renewed vigour. 

 

“GO!” Lance shouts, but Keith is already moving. It’s harder across the sand, but the ground becomes more solid as they dive into the forest, not knowing where they’re going. All that matters is getting away. But how does one hide from something so  _ big?  _ Something so  _ old?! _ Something so determined to  _ kill! _

 

Lance tries not to think about it, keeping his hands tight around Keith’s ears as Mac Tíre howls again.

 

_ That won’t work, you overgrown mutt! _ he thinks with some pride.  _ You can’t have him so long as I’m here- _

 

But his taunts are interrupted by three wolves darting out of the trees beside them - Lance sighing in relief when he recognizes their faces.

 

“Kosmo!” he shouts in warning, waving at the smallest of Keith's trio. “You have to leave! Now-”

 

**_There’s something wrong with them,_ ** Keith cuts him off, not hearing Lance’s words with his ears covered. Lance takes his hands away - Mac Tíre’s howl having ended.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

**_I mean there’s something wrong!_ ** Keith repeats frantically.  **_They aren't happy to see us...they- I think they're_ ** **hunting** **_us!_ **

 

"Why are they doing  _ that?!" _

 

**_I don't know!_ ** Keith answers, tone frayed with unease.  **_But I can sense their intentions! They don't know who we are...who I am...I don't even think they know who_ ** **they** **_are!_ **

 

As if to prove his point Regris lurches for his left leg, jaws snapping at the air as Keith barely avoids the bite.  **_Why-?!_ **

 

“It has to be him!” Lance hollers over the wind as Keith once again picks up the pace to outrun his pack. “There must be something about his howl that takes over the minds of wolves! Let’s him control them or-”

 

**_Forces them to attack against their will,_ ** Keith finished solemnly, both coming to the same realization. The fall of Zar, the unorthodox pack sizes, the unrelenting killings, the way the wolves of the past banded together to hunt mankind...

 

Lance had always thought the legends of Mac Tíre arose from those events, but what if it was the other way around?

 

What if it was never the wolves doing, or at least, not their choice, but rather someone else giving the orders - someone with the power to take control and demand vengeance against those who took what was his. 

 

Someone with the howl of a direwolf and the mind of a madman!

 

There’s no doubt anymore. The ancient nightmare and the forgotten king are one and the same. A monster born of hatred, drenched in tainted magic, immune to the passage of time with his goals unmet.

 

Zar of clan Kon never died on those islands. He just became something else, and countless innocents suffered from that choice. Are  _ still  _ suffering!

 

_ But that's it!  _ Lance perks suddenly - puzzle finally complete.  _ That must be the truth Allura wanted us to find! The way to break the spell and save Keith, and countless other wolves still impacted by what Zar wanted! _

 

_ We have to let the other clans know who the real enemy is!  _

 

_ We have to show my father what we learned here today!  _

 

_ We have to- _

 

**_We have to get out of here,_ ** Keith flawlessly adds to Lance’s mental list, tearing his gaze from Kosmo’s unfamiliar eyes as the silver wolf snarls up at them with unknown hostility. Lance can feel Keith’s heart-shattering as he angles away from the trio - from his pack...from his  _ family _ \- but it’s the only way to avoid having to fight back. 

 

**_Please run away,_ ** he pleads helplessly as Kosmo slows.  **_Don’t let him catch you. Run...escape-!_ **

 

There’s no way of knowing if they do - the trees blocking them from sight as Keith veers back towards the river, but they can’t stop to check. Not with the beast heavy on their heels. Lance can feel him growing closer, crashing through the forest as if it were a wheat field. 

 

 _Honerva, help us,_ he begs, sinking lower onto Keith’s back as the world speeds by. _I understand now! I know how to fix this! Please! Let us change the fates!_

 

It’s almost instant - the answer to his prayer - and both he and Keith spot the blue light flicker into existence between two jagged rocks not far in the distance.

 

“There!” Lance points regardless, feeling Keith’s legs pump faster as he heads straight for the wisp. 

 

A mist spreads out from the trunks as they draw nearer, wrapping around them in cold tendrils like before, but Lance welcomes their touch. He knows it means to help, or at least take them away from this place. So he keeps his eyes open as Keith barrels forward, ignoring the snapping of branches directly behind them as Mac Tíre closes in. 

 

_ Please, please-! _

 

His stomach drops as Keith jumps, soaring gracefully through the air right over the wisp. But rather than land on the other side of the rocks, they’re surrounded by thick fog - like diving into a cloud. The wind circles them, but it doesn’t touch, and it’s a moment of absolute chaos as his vision swirls dizzyingly, until Lance is finally forced to shut his eyes. 

 

A second later they’re landing - Keith’s legs bending to absorb the impact of hitting the ground - and before he even looks, Lance knows they’re no longer at the isles. 

 

The smell of the air and the warmth it carries is different, but more obvious is the absence of Mac Tíre and his awful red eyes.

 

The direwolf is gone. The nightmare over. At least for now.

 

He peeks through his lashes, watching the mist lazily slip away as Keith pants unevenly beneath him, and almost groans when he sees where they are. 

 

“Of course,” he mutters to himself, counting the nine stones that form a circle around them. The Witch’s Crown: where it all started. 

 

But he can feel nothing but relief as he lays back to stare up at the stars overhead, body rising and falling with each-

 

_ Wait a second...stars?! _

 

Lance jerks upward, startling Keith with the motion of gesturing to the sky.

 

“What  _ time _ is it?! Why is it so  _ late?!” _

 

**_Wh...are we back?_ ** Keith asks slowly, tongue poking out of his mouth as he tries to catch his breath.  **_Did we make it?_ **

 

“Yes but-” Lance grunts, heart sinking as he curses the mist and its power. Sure, it had saved them from being  _ eaten _ , but how long had it taken to get them home? The entire day is gone - their last sunrise looming on the horizon with the threat of loss prepped in its colour palette. 

 

_ I'm really starting to hate magic,  _ Lance thinks at the same time Keith voices his love of it.

 

**_Bless the wisps! I can't believe we_ ** **actually** **_made it!_ ** he laughs in exhaustion, but his ears droop soon after.  **_I just hope the others did as well._ **

 

Lance sobers, glancing down at Keith with a small smile.

 

"Hey, they're smart," he reassures, patting the top of his wolfy head. "And if they're anything like the guy who trained them, they'll give that demon hell."

 

**_I_ ** **didn't** **_train them!_ **

 

"Whatever you say, Kogane."

 

Keith chuckles weakly, tipping his head up to press deeper into Lance's hand with a sigh.

 

**_I hope you're right._ **

 

"I usually am," Lance pushes aside his worry, tucking his bow back over his shoulders. Though night is upon them, there's still time to change things. To fix it all. They just need to get back to his father. Amend the misconceptions born of vengeance.

 

_ We don't have to hunt wolves anymore. It was never them attacking first.  _

 

_ It was one of us: a man whose desires were twisted by the darkness in his heart, seeking power to fill the remaining empty shell.  _

 

Lance exhales through his nose, running a tired hand through his hair. 

 

_ To think so much of our history was shaped by one person's ambitions. _

 

**_You good?_ ** Keith asks as he hears the sigh, turning his head to stare up at him.  **_We can rest if you want._ **

 

"We can rest once we get back," Lance compensates. "Once we break this spell and start working to change the injustices of this land." 

 

**_You know,_ ** Keith grins sweetly.  **_I can't wait for you to be king._ **

 

"You'll be waiting a while," Lance grunts, though his ears begin to burn. 

 

**_I don't mind._ **

 

"You might get bored."

 

**_Of you? Never,_ ** Keith hums fondly, shifting his weight bashfully.  **_I'd wait for as long as you'd let me._ **

 

"I-" Lance flushes, turning away as he mutters a shy thanks. But he makes sure it sounds genuine, biting back a smile as he clears his throat. “How are you feeling, by the way?” 

 

**_Aside from absolutely terrified?_ **

 

"More or less."

 

**_Tired, but alive,_ ** Keith answers after a pause.  **_I can still run though, if that’s what you’re asking._ **

 

“Good,” Lance nods, returning his hands to Keith’s fur as the moon peeks out from behind a cloud. “Then let’s go change the fates."

 


	10. When Wolves Howl

The annual hunt is normally a celebration that lasts several sleepless nights. The clans host varying contests - both new and traditional - that typically involve copious consumption of alcohol and some sort of fighting, resulting in several boisterous hours leading into sunrise. 

 

But it's not only the invited guests who partake in the festivities.  _ Everyone _ is up and about, selling wares and making food, as well as handing out lanterns to the young'uns. The grounds are filled with music and laughter - singing and shouting and calling for more ale. 

 

The elders tell stories to the children calm enough to listen, allowing parents to relax and watch from afar. Hopeful romantics showcase their enthusiasm in grand displays of affection, whereas established lovers find any excuse to slip away from onlookers unnoticed.

 

Minstrels compete for the title of best song, voted based on the volume of the cheer that follows their performance, and wandering traders promise the magical properties of their goods from foreign lands. 

 

Music is played. People are dancing. Crowns of flowers are tossed from all the windows, and if one lands on someone passing underneath they have to kiss the nearest person flat on the mouth - a game Lance always wanted to play but was never allowed to join. 

 

Regardless, it's a wondrous time. A truly happy occasion, despite the purpose behind the gathering. And Lance is expecting to hear the festival before he sees it as he and Keith approach the outskirts of the castle 

 

But it's eerily quiet. No lanterns are lit. No music is played. No dancing takes place. The grounds are dark - the only lights coming from the lower windows and a few torches on each of the towers that act as guide-posts. 

 

No children run around screaming with joy. No couples hold hands and whisper sweet nothings from the shadows. No vendors call for their attention, pointing enthusiastically for them to come closer. 

 

It's as if the festival was not taking place at all, and it doesn't take Lance much to guess why.

 

"How long have we been gone?" he asks as Keith slows to a walk, slinking along the edge of the forest towards the fields. 

 

**_A few days I think._ **

 

_ Morrigan take us, _ Lance curses, biting his lower lip.  _ No wonder it's so dead. Everyone probably thinks  _ I  _ am…Thinks  _ we  _ are,  _ he amends, glancing down at Keith. Who  _ knows _ what sorts of rumours have spread since they left. The crown prince suddenly disappearing from the festival dedicated to his marriage? The Kogane suitor vanishing at the same time? No one knowing where they went, or why… only hearing a wolf howl that very same night?

 

It would be suspicious to even the most clueless of fools, and Lance groans as he pictures the utter  _ chaos _ that must await inside. 

 

"I may have to re-think my plan a bit," he admits, slipping down off Keith's back with a grunt. His legs are stiff, but he doesn't complain, considering Keith did all the work. "Barging in with you right behind me might not get the warmest welcome."

 

**That** **_was your plan?!_ ** Keith balks, eyes wide when he looks over after shaking out his fur.  **_Surely you have something else..._ **

 

"Not really, no," Lance answers with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in thought. "Just...the main point is getting to my father. Once I convince him that we have no reason to hunt wolves anymore, he'll order the killing to stop. And you'll go back to normal. Right?"

 

**You _asking_ me _does wonders for my confidence,_** Keith huffs sarcastically.  **_But in theory, yes. It's as Allura said: 'learn to see past battles old' - the fall of clan Kon, I’m assuming - and 'hearts to change once truths be told' - the reason behind the attacks that gave wolves such a bad name. That has to be the truth she meant._ **

 

"Exactly," Lance nods. "Once we explain all that you'll become you again, and everything will be okay."

 

A golden brow lifts - Keith's head tilting suggestively to the side as he takes on a more formal tone. 

 

**_I must admit, your eagerness to have me back is_ ** **most** **_endearing. It's almost like you miss me or-_ **

 

"Missing someone involves separation, Kogane," Lance interrupts with blazing cheeks. "I'm just looking forward to the absence of your dog breath." 

 

**_I don't have_ ** **dog** **_breath!_ **

 

"Wolf breath, then."

 

**_Wound me all you want,_ ** Keith grunts smugly,  **_but your excuses do little_ ** .  **_You miss me, and that's a fact._ **

 

Lance rolls his eyes in response, turning towards the castle as his mind whirls. Entering through the main hall would be the easiest way to reach his father - seeing as it's the place he'd most likely be. But it's also where the bulk of the celebrations occur once the crowds start to dwindle outside, and even without any sign of the festival taking place, Lance knows the room will be bustling. 

 

There’s no way the other clans would have settled down after he and Keith escaped that first night. To them, there’s a wolf that needs hunting, and they likely haven’t stopped patrolling since. It’s honestly shocking that they’d made it this far without running into any scouts, though Lance figures it’s late enough now that even the most ambitious hunter would have succumbed to the promise of ale and a warm fire. And the best place to get both of those things is the main hall. 

 

_ But if that's where Father is then I have no other choice…I just need to avoid the front entrance and sneak in some other way. _

 

There are several options he can take, but all require him to already be inside the castle. And to do that means sneaking passed the guards through a back door or window. 

 

Which is easy, actually. Lance has been doing exactly that for years now. 

 

_ But no one knew I was gone then, _ he deflates, trying not to picture the worried expression his mother will be wearing.  _ She must be so upset...especially after our last conversation. _

 

He doesn't linger on it though, readying his apology for after things are settled. Right now there are more pressing matters, and Lance gestures over to the ridge of trees closest to the castle. 

 

"Okay, here's what we'll do," he begins to walk in that direction, Keith following silently. "You stay hidden for now, and after I speak with my father and the other clan leaders, I'll take them outside so they can see I'm telling the truth."

 

**_And then what?_ **

 

"Then I give him the bracelet Allura left us and you tell him it's you and that our real enemy is not who we think."

 

**_I don't know how I feel about your father having access to my thoughts,_ ** Keith mopes, ears drooping.  **_What if I say something embarrassing?_ **

 

"Who cares! All he has to do is hear you. Then he'll see that we're right."

 

**_But what if I think something rude...or private!_ **

 

"Like what?"

 

**_Like-_ ** but Keith breaks off, eyes darting to the side bashfully.  **_I don't know...just something he might not want to hear._ **

 

"Then don't think it!" 

 

**_It's not that easy._ **

 

"You've gotten better at censoring your thoughts."

 

**_Or you've just gotten better at_ ** **ignoring** **_them,_ ** Keith mutters, but almost ironically Lance doesn't hear, waving a hand reassuringly to push them back on track. 

 

"And it doesn't matter anyway. Once he hears your thoughts he'll know what I told him is correct."

 

**_So you're going to explain about Allura and all that too?_ ** Keith pries, tone skeptical.  **_Because I can see that going badly. What if he just ends up blaming the fae and making this whole mess even worse?_ **

 

"I-" but Lance breaks off, having not thought of that possibility. And it  _ is _ a possibility, given the history of fear and avoidance of such beings ingrained from youth in many of the people south of the mountains. 

 

Never trust the fae, remember?

 

_ But the fae aren't the problem! Well, not specifically anyway,  _ Lance sighs. One could argue that Allura's granting of Zar's demands was the catalyst for further destruction. But one could  _ also _ say that her involvement was necessary, and who  _ knows _ what sorts of lies Zar told to sway her of his cause. 

 

Granted, from Lance's experience, he somewhat doubts the Altean cared either way. Her morals - as she had put it - were overcast. Grey. Maybe a tad chaotic. 

 

When he'd made his request she hadn't batted an eye, though asking to change his mother was less severe than seeking revenge against all the clans who fled Zar's rage. Surely  _ that _ would have had her faltering.

 

Then again, an unmelting ice wolf is  _ much _ shinier than the brooch he'd offered, so maybe that was all it took. Anything for the right price. 

 

_ But no one can fault her for that,  _ he reasons.  _ And if her spell just changes people into direwolves, then what happens after depends entirely on the person!  _

 

He glances over at Keith - who catches his eye and tilts his head at Lance's silence - to back his reasoning. 

 

_ Right. Keith became a direwolf and he's perfectly docile. And even when he briefly lost himself, he didn't run off trying to attack people or gather an army of wolves. Not  _ entirely  _ anyway,  _ he adds, shivering at the memory of bared teeth and black eyes _.  _ But the point remains that Keith's behaviour and Zar's are on completely different scales, so it's not Allura's fault that so much bloodshed followed after the creation of Mac Tíre. 

 

"I'll make him understand," he says with finality, unsure how but knowing he has no other choice. "Our common enemy needs introducing."

 

Keith hums in agreement - turning his head towards the partially shrouded moon before meeting Lance's gaze.

 

**_Alright. I trust you._ **

 

"Thanks," Lance mumbles shyly, brushing wolf hair off his clothing to be somewhat more presentable before addressing his father. "So, how do I look?" 

 

**_Handsome, as always._ **

 

"I'm being serious here."

 

**_So am I!_ **

 

"Yeah right," Lance grunts, crossing his arms over his chest self-consciously. "We've been trudging around the woods for the last few days, running after wisps and away from monsters. I probably look-"

 

**_Rugged?_ ** Keith supplies keenly.  **_Wild? Untamed? Positively dashing-_ **

 

"You're shameless!"

 

**_Just honest. You look great._ ** And he grins, leaning forward slightly with a twitching nose.  **_And the birds will thank you for building them a nest in your hair-_ **

 

_ "What?!"  _ Lance yelps, frantically running his hands over his head, tossing aside several twigs and a handful of leaves with disgust.  _ "See? _ That's  _ exactly _ what I meant!"

 

Keith shrugs, eyeing the discarded pile of nature.

 

**_Looked good to me._ **

 

Lance only scowls in response, but the pink in his ears makes the expression look pouty over annoyed. 

 

"Okay, well...it doesn't matter. Everyone will be too preoccupied with what I tell them to care about my appearance anyway." He straightens, inhaling deeply to puff out his chest. "So let's just get this done. Wish me luck."

 

He makes to leave, but a soft whine has him pausing as Keith nudges against his back.

 

"What is it?" Lance asks with a glance over his shoulder, but the direwolf remains put. "Keith…? Is something-"

 

**_What if it happens again?_ **

 

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

 

He feels Keith press closer - the hot expulsion of air as he exhales soaking into his cloak.

 

**_What if I change?_ ** he hears murmured after a brief pause.  **_This is the first time we’ve gone separate ways....what if I start to lose myself and you’re not here to-to keep me from-_ **

 

“You won’t,” Lance reassures, but Keith isn’t convinced.

 

**_But what if I do! I could slip away and you’d be left to explain everything by yourself! How are you supposed to change the fates if you have no proof! They’d think you were lying, or...or crazy! I can’t let them think that! Not about you!_ **

 

_Morrigan take me,_ Lance feels his pulse jump. _Even when the threat is entirely on him, he’s only worried about me._

 

It’s not something he feels he deserves - this overwhelming affection flooding through him via Keith’s thoughts - but he knows that trying to convince him with words not to fret will take longer than they can entertain. So Lance swallows his hesitation and turns, ducking slightly under Keith's head to wrap his arms around broad shoulders in a moment of pure instinct. 

 

He hears a gasp of surprise at the motion but ignores it, squeezing tightly as he presses his cheek into thick fur.

 

**_Lance-?_ ** But whatever Keith had been about to ask is forgotten in favour of leaning into the embrace with a deep, contented sigh. His head rests heavily on Lance's shoulder, but it's a comfortable weight. Reassuring. Warm. It makes him want to linger there, in Keith's presence, carding his fingers through his motley coat.

 

Because it's nice - the hug - and if he's being entirely honest, Lance regrets not trying it sooner. Once passed the coarse bristles, Keith is remarkably soft: a direct comparison to his personality, it would seem. And it's not difficult to imagine how a hug like this would feel were he human again. 

 

_ Maybe less hairy,  _ Lance hears himself muse. But his face burns as his thoughts drift to imagining strong arms returning the gesture. What it would be like.  _ Feel  _ like. 

 

If hands would cling to his clothing or lay flat against his back. If the smell would be different or carry the same trace of spruce needles and soil. If Keith would hold him tight or rock him gently back and forth, whispering his name out loud, instead of just in his thoughts.

 

_ I wonder if his hair is as silky as his fur… _ some part of him whispers, and suddenly the hug is too much. Too constraining. Too risky. And though it had been meant for comfort, his mind had twisted it into something more yearning. A selfish stream of thoughts given the situation, if he’s being honest, so with a final squeeze he pulls away, ducking his head so his blush isn't illuminated in the moonlight. 

 

“You’ll be fine” he manages after a moment, twiddling his thumbs in sudden shyness. “If anything happens, I’ll bring you back.”

 

There’s a long pause in which Lance stares a hole in the ground as he waits for Keith to answer. And he does, eventually, though it’s with such genuine concern that Lance melts from the inside out. 

 

**_Do you promise?_ **

 

Lance swallows thickly, finally lifting his gaze to merlot eyes. 

 

“I’d find a way,” he states firmly.  _ Fates be damned, I’d find a way.  _

 

A beat of silence passes, and then Keith is grinning - pawing at the ground with one massive leg.

 

**_Now I_ ** **really** **_don't want you to leave..._ ** he murmurs bashfully.   **_Can't we just stay here and hug for a little while longer?_ **

 

"I won’t be long," Lance waves him off - voice as weak as his knees. "So don't worry."

 

**_Will you hug me again when you come back?_ **

 

_ Morrigan take me, he's relentless.  _ But Lance finds himself smiling anyway.

 

"Maybe," is all he says, pulling his hood up. "Just wait for my signal, okay?" 

 

**_What will it be?_ **

 

"You'll know it when you hear it." And with a final wave, he takes off, merging with the shadows that lead toward the castle, turning back only once to see the direwolf watching from afar - stoic and ghostly with his fur bathed in moonlight. 

 

And though it's a sight that has his heart buzzing giddily despite his nerves, Lance hopes that it's the last time he sees it. 

 

As much as he's grown to admire the wolf, it's the person inside he wants back the most. 

 

And he'll get him back. All he has to do is make the clans understand. Make them see the truth. 

 

He's done his listening. It's time he was heard. 

 

* * *

 

There are more guards out than he’d first noticed, and several times Lance is forced to shrink against the walls to avoid being caught. How he manages not to is sheer luck, or else some deep-rooted skill that has him thanking his rebellious self for developing. And if the stakes weren’t so high, he might even consider the effort of sneaking back into the castle a game - a competition between himself and the trained soldiers that pride themselves on their awareness.

 

But it’s  _ not _ a game. At least, not in the sense that being found would result in a short scolding and the threat of no dessert should it happen again. This time it’s serious. This time the repercussions of his actions - running off with Keith, galavanting about the woods for days on end, seeking faes and waking wolves - are something to fear. Who  _ knows _ what his mother would do should he be brought in between the arms of two guards, disheveled and trying to escape. 

 

She’d think him insane. Lock him up until sense found its way home. And all the while Keith would be waiting for him to return to set him free - bring him back - watching the moon fade and the sun rise with eyes becoming coal. 

 

Lance swallows thickly - a wave of anxiety forcing him to pause and catch his breath before continuing forward. He’ll make it. He has no other choice. 

 

_ But what if they don’t listen? _ A small, worried voice asks.  _ What if they don’t believe you? _

 

“I’ll make them,” he murmurs to himself, jaw set but palms sweaty. He almost wishes the turquoise stones had a longer range. Keith's voice had faded out as more distance was put between them, and there's an uncomfortable silence in his head that his own thoughts have no issue filling. 

 

_ And if you can’t? _

 

He inhales shakily, holding the breath for a count of ten before letting it out through his mouth. 

 

_ Then I’ll find some other way to save him. _

 

He shoves off the wall before the voice can question  _ that _ as well, focusing on finding the quickest way in. He’s not far from the stables now, which means the window leading up to his room is close as well. Granted, it’s across the courtyard from his current position, and with guards stationed on the walls and every doorway, making it up to the ledge would require a distraction he’s currently incapable of making. 

 

_ Iverson’s arse, _ he curses, eyes darting between three men standing in the arch leading out to the main grounds and another two up on the bridge spanning between two of the towers.  _ No way I’m getting through there.  _

 

His gaze drifts over to the closest door - the one leading into the kitchens - and frowns at the guard boredly doodling in the dirt with the end of her spear.

 

_ Gah, why is there someone there! No one needs to watch the kitchen! _

 

Or, they  _ didn’t _ , in the past. It likely wasn’t hard for anyone to discern that’s how he had fled in the first place, and measures were taken since to prevent that from happening again. 

 

_ What are they trying to do, keep my past self from escaping?  _ he grumbles, tapping the side of his leg as he ducks back into the shadows. He leans his head against the wall, sighing in annoyance as his mind spins new ideas. His planning doesn’t make it far though, as three tiny gasps have him jolting out of his skin - finding himself staring up into the faces of his sisters from the small window above him.

 

A few seconds of sheer bewilderment pass - triplets gaping down at him with wide eyes the same blue as his own - and right when they open their mouths to speak or shout or call out his name, Lance snaps into action.

 

_ “Shh!” _ he hisses, pressing a finger to his lips and hastily clambering behind several nearby barrels. His sisters watch with growing grins, but do as told, going so far as to cover their mouths with both hands. They wait in silence, and when no alarms are sounded, he allows himself to relax, moving back beneath the window with a wary glance over at the guard still standing by the kitchen. 

 

And then he’s staring up at his sisters again, feeling his own smile develop as a plan quickly comes to life.

 

“Hey,” he hushes, rising up on his tiptoes for them to better hear. The window is high up and too narrow for him to squeeze through, and Brighid knows  _ what _ the three of them were doing to be able to see out of it in the first place. If Lance recalls correctly, this particular window belongs to one of the rooms that branch off the kitchen. The pantry, perhaps.

 

_ Ah...yeah, _ he almost laughs, realizing all at once what the triplets were up to. _ That makes sense.  _

 

“Raiding the pie shelf again?” he teases, but the girls don’t bother with an answer - instead leaning farther out the window with gleeful expressions.

 

“Lancey!” Saorise whisper screeches, scowling when Lydia shoves into her arm with a frenzied finger to her lips. 

 

"Shush!" she reprimands, not much quieter. "Obviously this is a secret mission!" She looks back down at him expectantly, brow rising with her voice. "Right?" 

 

Lance nods, and then Margery is pushing for more window space.

 

"But where were you?" she asks softly - tight curls spilling down over her face. She blows them away in annoyance before going on. "Mommy's been worried."

 

"She's been mental," Saorise corrects, which even Lydia seems to agree with. 

 

"She's been fretting over us and pacing in her room and ordering everyone around," she adds, rolling her eyes. "It's not been fun at all! So why did you run away?!" 

 

"I  _ didn't! _ I-" but Lance breaks off with a huff, realizing somewhat guiltily that he  _ did _ , in fact, sort of fulfill the definition of running away. So he shakes his head and opts for the quick excuse. "I had something important to do."

 

"Like what?" Lydia begins, but is interrupted as Margery shoves her torso over the sill. 

 

"Lancey we heard a  _ wolf howl!" _ she yelps enthusiastically, pointing up at the sky with glistening eyes. "A real wolf! The night you left! It was amazing!"

 

"Amazing? Didn't you cry?" Saorise quips, giggling when Margery tries to snack her arm. 

 

"I only did because it was so beautiful," she finishes, giving up her attempts to scold her sister. "It was like the most lovely song, as if the moon herself were singing to us."

 

Lance bites the inside of his cheek, thinking back to how he'd reacted to first hearing Keith howl. 

 

_ It truly was beautiful... _ he thinks, and Margery's explanation does it justice, though it also reminds him with abrupt urgency why he's here.

 

"Hey, I have a favour to ask you three," he presses closer to the wall, standing on his tiptoes. "I need to see dad, but I can't get passed all the guards on my own. Can you cause a distraction for me?"

 

"A distraction?"

 

"Of course!"

 

"What do we get out of it?"

 

The triplets all speak at once - Lance choosing to answer the last question with a grunt.

 

"My eternal gratitude?"

 

"What are we supposed to do with that?" Lydia challenges, folding her arms over her chest.

 

"Cherish it?" Lance tries, but it's no use. He sighs in defeat, grumbling under his breath about how Keith better appreciate the sacrifice he's about to make. "Fine. You can have my desserts for a month."

 

Three sets of brows raise, Saorise holding out her hand in expectation. 

 

_ Curse these children! _ Lance fumes, knowing exactly what the gesture means. 

 

"Fine! A year then! Plus I'll help with your chores. Okay?"

 

They wait a moment to deliberate, then all nod in unison. Lance grins, bobbing his head in the direction of the guard by the kitchen.

 

"That's your target. And remember, I only need a distraction. No injuries."

 

"On it," they nod again, Margery throwing him a thumbs up before disappearing back into the castle. Lance pushes away from the wall and waits, but it doesn't take long for them to produce results. Five minutes pass, and suddenly a chicken is running out into the middle of the courtyard. 

 

_ Oh, Brighid be blessed, _ Lance finds himself biting back laughter.  _ They unleashed the hens! _

 

He hears the guard murmur her confusion as she blinks down at the unexpected visitor, but before she can ask anything further, the rest of the flock appears in a frenzy - squawking loudly as feathers and dust fly up in the chaos that is fifty chickens fleeing their coop. 

 

"Oi!" Lance hears shouted, edging closer to the door as one of the men by the gate notice the commotion. "What's going on!"

 

"The hens escaped!" the kitchen guard answers frantically, abandoning her spear in favour of trying to divert the chickens back towards their home. "Help me round them up!"

 

She bends to scoop one in her arms, stepping away from the door and giving Lance all the time he needs to dart over and slip through unnoticed. 

 

It shuts with a squeak, but it's silent against the battle cries of the chickens outside. Lance praises the triplets as he hastily locks it behind him just in case, almost pitying the guards in their efforts at controlling the hens. 

 

He wastes no time darting over to the stairs leading out into the hall, but something catches his attention from the corner of the room before he makes his exit.

 

He pauses, feeling his chest tighten as he bends to retrieve what he realizes is the gift Keith had made him. His fingers wrap around the carving - the promise, the question, the first wolf presented to the prince - and Lance sighs shamefully as he eyes the broken pieces. 

 

It's split in half almost ironically where the heart would be, and without thinking much of it, Lance hastily tears a small strip of his tartan, which he then uses to fasten the pieces back in place.

 

It's messy, but it does the trick, and with a tight knot the wolf is whole again - wrapped in the colours of his clan. 

 

"Sorry," he hears himself murmur, unsure why or to who he's apologizing, but it feels like the right thing to do. With a final glance around the room he pockets the wolf and slips into the hallway, trying to decide what to make of the silence.

 

_ Maybe everyone is already asleep?  _ he muses, though it's not so late that the castle would be collectively comatose. Plus it's the festival! Even in his absence, Lance is  _ sure _ there should be _ some  _ celebration occurring. 

 

_ Unless mum shut everything down… _

 

Which would be unfortunate, to say the least. He already feels guilty enough - what with transforming Keith, upsetting the other clans, abandoning his family, forfeiting his duties as a prince, and, oh, angering one of the most horrifyingly violent beasts to ever roam the land…he doesn't need to add the disappointment of the entire village to the list. 

 

_ Morrigan take me, _ he grunts as he hurries towards one of the side passages that will take him to the main hall.  _ I don't even want to imagine the apologies I'll have to make once all of this is settled.  _

 

_ Oh well, _ he smiles suddenly, placing a hand over the pocket with the wooden wolf.  _ It'll be worth it if I succeed. I just need to- _

 

"Prince Lance?"

 

His blood turns to ice - draining from his face so quickly he feels himself grow faint in response. There are no thoughts that barge into his head. No subconscious warnings to run or play dead. Everything is held in a dangerous numbness as he slowly turns towards the voice of Lady Krolia, meeting her fierce gaze with wide, unblinking eyes. 

 

"By the Spurs, it  _ is _ you…"

 

And if he thought Keith was intense, his mother radiates an entirely different aura of power. She commands attention without asking for it - holds a knife to his throat without drawing a blade. She watches with the same hue of lavender that Keith possesses, but where his gaze softens and warms when it lands on Lance, hers remains cold and distant.  

 

He shivers - feeling like prey trapped and cornered despite being on the other end of the hall. But it’s a justified reaction, given that he has technically been caught, and Krolia wastes no time with the questions. 

 

"Where have you been?"

 

"Uh-" he clears his throat of its dryness, pressing his hand into the wall behind him for stability as he grasps at weak excuses. "I was, um…"

 

But he doesn't have to come up with anything, thankfully, as Krolia hastily shakes her head and amends her ask.

 

"Are you alright? Uninjured? Were you in danger? Are you  _ still _ in danger?" 

 

He blinks at her concern, unexpectedly overwhelmed by the lack of hostility in her voice as she scans their surroundings, eyeing the shadows with disdain. 

 

"No, I-"

 

"Because I can protect you. Just point me in the direction of any pursuers and I'll be your shield." Her hand goes to her belt, where a long sword is secured at her waist. "I promise, nothing will harm you if I'm here. I can keep you safe."

 

_ Even from a giant man-eating wolf?  _ he hears that same pessimistic voice murmur sarcastically.  _ Or how about my mother's wrath? _

 

"I'm...I'm okay, thanks," he manages to insist, to which Krolia nods, though her hand stays near the hilt of her weapon. He anticipates more questions - this time prying and accusatory now that his safety has been reassured - but after a brief pause she inhales sharply, eyes hard and glassy as they find their way back to his face. 

 

“Do...” she begins, moving closer after glancing back the way she’d come. Her voice is a hush - raspy and unsure as she finishes her thought. "Do you know where my son is?"

 

And when asked with such uncertainty, such concern and worry, Lance falters for a moment, collecting himself before answering. 

 

“He’s...uh,” he breaks off for a second, frantically searching for a way to explain without making himself sound crazy. “He’s with me. Or, well, he  _ has _ been with me,” he adds, seeing Krolia jerk her head over his shoulder in response. “Right now he’s...um…”

 

“Is he alive?” she whispers roughly, amethyst eyes sharp and deadly as they bore into him. Lance blinks, taken aback, and rushes a confirmation.

 

“Yes, of course-”

 

She relaxes instantly, placing a hand to his shoulder as she sags forward with a lengthy exhale. And his guilt worsens, remembering that he’s not the only one who’s been missing for the past few days. At least  _ he _ had some sort of reason behind his disappearance. Keith, on the other hand, vanished without anything to go off of. Of course, it was likely assumed they went together - or so Lance thought. Judging by Krolia’s reaction, some doubt existed. 

 

_ And who could blame her, _ he sympathizes, rigid beneath her palm.  _ The Koganes are not people we often see at these events. The animosity was tangible when they first made an appearance, so she likely thought someone had done away with her son- _

 

“I thought he’d run off,” he hears grumbled suddenly - Krolia leaning back with a renewed calm and a statement that has him frowning in confusion. Her expression is neutral, but there's a flicker in her eyes that hadn't been there before, like a candle lit behind frosted glass. 

 

"Troublesome child of mine. He was so against coming, you know. It took all of my practiced persuasion as a ruler to convince him it was for the best he compete for your hand." She smiles - a kind look with dimples very similar to Keith's. Lance feels himself flush, though Krolia doesn't notice. 

 

"He fought me the entire way, so much so that I had to bring Shiro to keep an extra pair of eyes on him at all times."

 

"Oh, well," Lance murmurs, almost laughing at how similar their reactions to the festival had been. "I don't blame him."

 

She almost smiles then - or  _ smirks _ more like - as she gives him a looking over.

 

"But if he's been with you this whole time perhaps he's changed his mind."

 

Lance flushes, ducking his head. Her observation is remarkably accurate, and as opposed as Keith had apparently first been, it hadn't taken him long to reconsider the idea of marriage, and the wooden wolf in Lance's pocket grows heavier as memories of an interrupted proposal surface. But it's best to keep that knowledge to himself - staring at the floor as Krolia chuckles lightly in his silence. 

 

"You'll have to forgive his tactlessness," she hums after a pause, as if knowing without him admitting anything just how forward her son had been. "Keith has always been one to speak his mind when something needs saying."

 

"Really?" Lance voices in response, one brow lifting skeptically. "He seems more action-oriented to me. Like, swing first, ask questions later."

 

Krolia barks a crisp laugh, clapping her hands to her hips as the remaining ice in her gaze melts away.

 

"So you  _ have _ been with him!" she assures once settled, beaming widely and looking so much like her son. "I had to make sure you weren't lying to cover anything up. I'm not overly fond of secrets, you know."

 

"Ha…" he grunts awkwardly, eyes darting to the side with a murmured: "yeah…"

 

"But it pleases me that you weren't on your own," she continues, tone sobering as her attention lingers on his cheek. "Your mother has been-"

 

"Frantic?" Lance supplies, already aware of the situation thanks to the triplets. He huffs, waving off her comment. "She can get that way. Overreact and cause a scene. I should apologize on her behalf, and for the festival being sort of boring. Not the best first impression of our family, eh?"

 

He expects another chuckle - maybe even a smile - but Krolia surprises him by frowning and folding her arms over her chest.

 

"I wouldn't make light of what's happened, Highness," he's gently scolded - Krolia's voice serious but soft. "This is not something to make into a joke."

 

"I-I'm not! It's just..." but he trails off, face heating as she shakes her head. 

 

"I don't mean to reprimand you," she offers as he fumbles. "But you must understand the fear that comes with losing a child. The panic that consumes you. To know your son is alone and possibly in danger. Cold, scared, maybe even hurt…"

 

Her shoulders sag, reaching out to brush a hesitant finger across the cut now scabbed over beneath his eye. It's a tender touch - foreign coming from someone he's only met briefly before. And he gets the feeling that perhaps it's not entirely meant for him, wondering what sort of memories surface as she traces the new scar on his face. 

 

"Your mother has every right to be frantic," she comments distantly, letting her hand fall back to her side. "You broke her heart when you left, and though I don't need to hear specifics, I hope you have a good reason behind your actions."

 

_ I do, _ he wants to say, but sharing his personal woes with a stranger isn't the best use of his time right now. Krolia has a very valid point though, and he bites his inner lip as regretful recollections of his and his mother's last conversation surface. 

 

_ No matter how angry I was, I shouldn't have just run off. I should have tried to make her listen… _

 

_ Except you  _ did  _ try and it didn't work, _ he argues with himself,  _ hence the reason you left in the first place. _

 

_ Right. Yeah. _

 

He exhales through his nostrils - Krolia's focus heavy - and settles with silence. She catches the hint well enough, and mimics his sigh.

 

"Regardless, it's not my business," she shrugs, voice pitching up as the seriousness of her warning passes. "War-ready as the Koganes are, we know when to pick our battles, and the ones between a mother and son should not be discussed with strangers." 

 

He smiles gratefully at that, doubting that the rest of the castle will share her sentiment. Private as their argument should have been, Lance hadn't exactly been coy about his intentions to disobey his mother - what with announcing his desire to fight for his own hand to the entirety of the festival and then being drug back home by her explicit request. Their disagreements were likely the talk of the town at this point, especially now that he's been missing for so long.

 

Rumours and gossip are the forbidden streams of intel that flow from one mouth to another, and with the festival postponed as it is, the people have nothing  _ but _ twisted versions of the truth to sustain themselves. 

 

Boredom breeds creativity, and what better stories to pass along than ones based on the royals of the land? 

 

_ Morrigan take me, _ he curses gruffly.  _ If mum doesn't kill me for leaving she'll kill me for giving the common folk so much fodder for falsehoods. She's always hated gossip.  _

 

"I'll leave you to whatever you were doing," Krolia's voice brings him back to the present moment, and when he jerks his attention back to her face he can see her smirking slyly. "I have a feeling I interrupted some great plan."

 

"I was just looking for my father," he explains without denying her observations. "I need to speak to him. Urgently."

 

"Then try the main hall," she provides helpfully. "He's been in there with the other clan leaders for hours trying to plan their next move."

 

"Next...move?" Lance repeats, and Krolia nods.

 

"There have been searches in every hour of daylight since you left. Groups formed to cover as much distance as possible in hopes that one would find you before something else did."

 

_ Something else? _ he means to ask, but his confusion must be evident on his face, as Krolia provides an answer.

 

"There was a wolf heard the night you disappeared. Everyone has been in a panic since, fearing you'd been attacked or killed."

 

"That's ridiculous," Lance almost laughs, picturing the dopey gleam in Keith's eyes that had followed his song that night. His heart softens, reliving the beauty of that moment before he'd ruined it with rationality. 

 

But past panic aside, the howl had been chilling in a way that filled him with wonder - like the first mornings in fall when he wakes to see his breath, or the shiver down his back at the sound of a finger tracing the rim of crystal glasses.

 

It had been haunting, and for so long he'd associated that emotion with dread. But knowing what he does now - seeing wolves through Keith's eyes - Lance pities his past self for covering his ears whenever their song rang out in the night. 

 

"It was just a howl. How could anyone be scared of something so harmless?"

 

Krolia pauses - surprise blatant as she raises a brow and tilts her head to one side.

 

"That's an interesting thing to hear coming from a McClain."

 

_ Oh...whoops... _ he blinks, realizing what he'd said.  _ Forgot what my family is known for… _

 

"Uh…I mean, they shouldn't be scared for me! I can handle a wolf,  _ easy. _ Nothing to worry about."

 

She doesn't appear convinced by his acting, ducking her head with a knowing smile.

 

"Perhaps Keith was right," she murmurs to herself, but before Lance can ask what she means, she returns her attention to his face. "Good luck with your father, Highness. I have a feeling you may need it."

 

"Oh," he answers stiffly, puzzled by the abrupt end to the conversation. "Thanks-"

 

"But I would ask you point me in the direction of my son," she adds with a smirk, "so I may bless upon him my dissatisfaction with his untimely decision to leave."

"Ah, uh-" Lance feels his mouth lose moisture - throat dry as purple flickers keenly. "Keith is...um-" 

 

But he doesn't get the chance to finish his lie. Krolia's gaze lands on his hip - drawn there by the nervous tapping of his fingers against his thigh - and inhales sharply.

 

"Where did you get that," she demands intensely, pointing to the knife sheathed on his belt. Lance falters for a second as he registers her reaction, having forgotten he'd been carrying Keith's weapon while he's been without hands. 

 

Innocent as his intentions were, Lance grasps how suspicious the scenario may seem, especially considering he knows the significance Keith's knife holds. 

 

"It's-" he starts, subconsciously backing away as the warmth in those eyes is sealed off like a door swung shut. "He gave it to me-"

 

"He... _ gave _ it to you?" 

 

"Only temporarily! He…I was just holding onto it for him. Um...just for safekeeping. He told me it was okay…" he trails off, watching her expression shift to something indiscernible. "But you can have it back!" he adds hastily, hands going to remove the knife, but Krolia stops him with a firm shake of her head. 

 

"No, keep it for now," she huffs, fingers moving to her face to rub small circles near her temples. "If he gave it to you it was for a reason. I won't pry. But, Highness-"

 

"Call me Lance."

 

"Blasphemy," she scoffs, waving off his offer. "All I ask is that you tell me where Keith is."

 

"I-"  _ can't  _ he means to say, but a sudden thought interrupts before the word can escape. 

 

_ Hold on...maybe she could help!  _

 

He pauses, brows pinching together as he weighs the pros and cons of letting her in on the secret. 

 

_ She could prove to be an ally! Her clan's entire philosophy is based around the protection of wolves. Surely she would understand if I told her… _

 

_ But direwolves are not the same as wolves, _ a voice tries to reason - Lance grunting as he considers.  _ She might try to kill him. And how would Keith even react if his mother suddenly appears? _

 

_ But what other choice do I have? _

 

"Highness…?" Krolia presses, and he snaps up with a final decision made.

 

"I'll tell you where he is, but you have to promise not to freak out."

 

"Excuse me-?"

 

"Just…" and he leans closer, taking her hand in his own two and grasping tightly. "I'm working to fix things.  _ Everything. _ But if you freak out my plan might get ruined. Promise me you'll stay calm."

 

"I-" but she falters - caught in his request and the grip of his fingers. A long moment passes in which hundreds of inquires flash over her face, but finally, Krolia exhales and nods. "Fine. I'll agree to assess whatever situation I find my son in with a level head."

 

"Thank you," Lance almost sighs in relief, releasing her hand. "I promise I have things under control."

 

_ Mostly… _

 

"Then I'll trust you," she affirms, jaw set. It's a comforting statement, but it carries more stress than Lance thinks he can manage. Still, he's come too far to collapse under the weight of guilt now, so with a quick inhale he hastily explains where Keith is, letting Krolia know to be sneaky on her way out.

 

"And one more thing," he adds as he finishes, slipping his bracelet of turquoise stones from his wrist. It feels empty without them on, and for a moment he almost reconsiders the offer. But in the end, it's better for Krolia to have them, even if it means he won't be able to hear Keith's voice in his head. Anything that will help speed the process of breaking Allura's spell should not be hoarded. 

 

"Wear these," he hands them over carefully, watching Krolia eye them somewhat perplexed. "It'll help both of you communicate. Tell him I sent you, and that it's part of my plan, and he'll be able to explain the rest." 

 

"Okay…?" Krolia agrees, letting her confusion colour the word as she slips on the bracelet. But she doesn't ask any more questions, for which Lance is grateful. 

 

"Oh! And if you could, bring him to the front entrance and await my signal. If my father is in the main hall then that's the fastest way to bring them together."

 

"Why does my son need to see the king?" she frowns, one hand moving to her hip. "Has he done something wrong? Would I be bringing him to some ill fate?"

 

"What? No! Of course not!"  _ Maybe,  _ that same voice says again, but Lance ignores it. "I wouldn't put Keith in a scenario like that! If it isn't safe, I won't signal you in. In fact, if you hear me start yelling to run, you  _ do it. _ "

 

Krolia blinks in concern, mouth opening with more questions, but Lance doesn't allow her the chance.

 

"Promise me, Lady Krolia, that if I tell you to run, you take Keith as far from here as possible, understand? No matter how hard he fights you, force him to leave."

 

Though he'd tried not to dwell on it, there is a possibility that his father won't listen. That the other clan leaders will be furious and demand blood. That telling them the direwolf they see is safe and harmless will result in another hunt that won't soon be called off. 

 

Lance had been planning on avoiding that possibility by isolating his father to tell him the news, but if he's with the others in such a public place, doing so will take more time than he has. Too many distractions have eaten away at the night, and Lance is starting to feel the desperation kick in.

 

So if Krolia is willing to help - if she keeps her promise and doesn't freak out at the sight of her son as a wolf - then her assistance might be the only thing that keeps Keith alive should events take a turn for the worst.

 

_ He would never leave me if I asked him to go, _ Lance acknowledges almost sadly.  _ He would try and help, which would only hasten him getting hurt. If his mother is there though, she might be able to persuade him to run.  _

 

_ She's my safety net. My rope on this cliff of a situation. I just have to trust that these haphazard knots will hold.  _

 

He looks at Krolia with determination. With hope. With conviction. And when she holds his gaze he sees understanding spark in those eyes as she grasps the direness of his tone. It's the first time he's grateful that he's easy to read, and when she nods stiffly he thanks whatever deities he can that his demands aren't met with more resistance.

 

"I'll do as you ask, Highness."

 

"Good." 

 

He turns before she can change her mind - before he can change his  _ own _ mind - and rushes to the end of the hallway. But before he disappears down it, he pauses, one hand lingering on the wall as he glances back. 

 

"Oh, and it might be best to announce I sent you before you see him. Just start calling out to the trees once you're away from the castle. Then he'll know it's safe to show himself."

 

"Is that so?" her brow lifts in amusement. "It seems you two have formed quite the bond these past few days. I'm curious to know what changed."

 

"What  _ hasn't _ ," Lance chuckles dryly, and when Krolia shoots him an inquisitive look he shrugs and smiles. "Just, remember not to freak out. Everything will make sense shortly."

 

"If you insist," she bows her head, turning on her heel to head off in search of her son. Lance watches for a moment and then goes his own way, swallowing thickly as he wrestles with the potential consequences of what he'd just done. 

 

_ Please don't be angry Keith,  _ he thinks as he maneuvers towards the passage that will take him up.  _ She would have found out eventually anyway. This way we have more help should I fail. _

 

He experiences no further interruptions as he dives into the stairwell and takes the steps two at a time. From there he sneaks into a servant's passage leading towards the main hall and pulls up his hood, pressing closer to the wall in case anyone should decide to come this way. They shouldn't, as it's well hidden and discreet - only a short distance from the front entrance that opens to where Keith should be waiting shortly - but he's still cautious when prying the door open, giving himself enough of a gap to peek into the room.

 

"-meddlesome woman likely has a hand in all this!" Lord MacDonal is proclaiming gruffly, not making any effort in concealing who he's referring to. 

 

_ Lady Krolia must have just come from here, _ Lance deduces - a thought that is moments later confirmed by the angered lord.

 

"How dare she oppose her king and refuse to help search! And the gall to waltz out without being dismissed?! I always knew the Koganes were trouble and here we are now-"

 

"She said she would not join the hunt for the beast we heard the night he went missing," Lord Gunderson cuts in. "She's been cooperative in all other aspects."

 

Lord MacDonal scoffs, leaning back in his chair.

 

"And yet she lends no resources! No information! For Freya's sake, she  _ barely _ bats an eye when a track is found, or a sign discovered," he titters in disappointment. "I don't trust her as far as I can throw her. Likely had a hand in all this-"

 

"Are you suggesting she  _ kidnapped _ the prince?" Chief Garrett interrupts, looking foreboding from his position by the far wall. "That she organized it all?"

 

"I wouldn't speak against it, no. Her own son vanished the same night, if you've forgotten. Suspicious. I bet they're planning something!"

 

"You speak so poorly of an ally," someone mutters - Lance unable to see who without opening the door further. "And as you said, her  _ own _ son is missing as well. Have you no pity?"

 

"Silence boy, or you'll be the next suitor to disappear," Lord MacDonal spits back, to which something crashes abruptly. 

 

"Do not dare threaten my son!" Lord Gunderson flares - Lance realizing it must have been Matthew who spoke. He uses the distraction to slip from the passage into the room, merging with the nameless group loitering at the back. Sure enough, Lord Gunderson is standing with his arm held defensively across Matthew's chest - gathered in a haphazard circle surrounded by their respective clans. "His words are as valid as your own. Moreso, even, as his carry reason."

 

"Come off it Samuel!" Lord MacDonal groans in response. "You know as well as I how convenient this all is! The Koganes show up to the first hunt in  _ years _ \- one where the prize is a right to the crown - and  _ somehow _ both Angus's boy and the Kogane suitor vanish on the same night?"

 

"Lady Krolia is not fool enough to break a truce so brashly," Chief Garrett reasons with a grunt. "Especially with so few men to back her. Who did she come with, her son and nephew?"

 

"You forget how vicious that clan can be!" Lord MacDonal goes on. "And though I don't fear a mere woman and her crippled kin-"

 

"Woah-" someone cuts in - Pidge, he thinks. It's hard to tell from his current position, and Lance surreptitiously shuffles closer to the main doors. Sure enough, the second Gunderson child can be seen pushing to stand by his family.

 

"She's stronger than most of the men in this room!" Pidge states loudly, glaring at Lord MacDonal with a ferocity that doesn't quite match his size. "And a respected leader! You would be a fool  _ not _ to fear her!"

 

"And Shiro can fight just as well as any," another voice adds - Adam this time, which is unexpected. He stands separate from his clan, looking uncharacteristically angered. "Better even. I've seen him."

 

"When would you have-" his father begins, but must decide it doesn't matter as he drops the question before it can be finished. "Why are you defending them?! Why are  _ we _ all standing here like tits on a bull when we could be out hunting the damned wolves in our midst! Why not-"

 

"ENOUGH!" 

 

Lance bites the inside of his mouth at his father's sudden order. It's the first he's said since Lance first entered the room - and in the chaos, he'd almost forgotten that was who he needed to find the most. But all eyes dart to the front as the king stands from his throne, and a tense silence ensues. No one speaks. Hardly anyone breathes. Lance ducks deeper into the hood of his cloak, sinking low so the crowd hides him better.

 

"I've heard enough," his father announces after what feels like a decade of anxious unease passes. "I will not tolerate any further assumptions of our allies. Lady Krolia and her clan are part of this kingdom. I invited her here, and I trust that she is innocent of any outrageous accusations of mutiny, unless you have legitimate proof, Jamie?"

 

Lance suppresses a proud smile, edging closer to the doors as Lord MacDonal sputters indignantly.

 

"I- it was…surely you see-"

 

"I do not," his father interrupts, and the room falls silent again as he steps down from the dais. "We mustn't turn our frustrations inward. The enemy is not one of us, but rather something we've been in combat against for years."

 

Lance pauses abruptly, feeling his chest tighten as he realizes where the conversation is going. And then another voice is piping up - sending a chill of dread down his spine as his mother stands.

 

_ Oh no!  _ he feels his palms grow clammy as he instantly freezes. _ Why is she here!?  _

 

"We must destroy the beast that took our prince from us!" she demands callously, words strong but face tired. She hasn't slept, but it barely shows. Or maybe she just hides it well. Regardless, Lance keeps his eyes low as hers scan over the room. "My son has been lured away by wolves before - enticed by their wicked ways when he was but a babe!"

 

_ I...what!? _ Lance struggles to comprehend, guessing she's referring to the first time he'd seen a wolf.  _ But I wasn't lured! I just wandered off! Why would she think- _

 

"I fear my son may have angered the fae with his proclamation at the festival," she continues, "and in doing so provoked their wrath. He was taken as a warning, and we must do everything in our power to earn their forgiveness!"

 

_ This is ridiculous! Surely no one is foolish enough to believe this! _

 

But a hearty cheer follows her statements - Lance almost knocked back as several arms are lifted in the air brandishing weapons.

 

"My cousin was taken by Alteans!" someone shouts from across the room. 

 

"My aunt once rescued a wolf pup and she never married! Cursed I tell you!" another joins in. The room ripples as more voices join the odd confessional - adding their stories to the mix - each more ridiculous than the last and completely without meaning.

 

"I've never trusted the moon!"

 

"I was chased by a pack of dogs as a kid and feared em since!" 

 

"The fae stole my only cow! I saw them make off with her!"

 

"A wisp turned me into a newt!" 

 

The buzz of the room halts, everyone turning to face the man who had spoken. He takes a startled look around him before awkwardly clearing his throat.

 

"I got better…"

 

And the cheering is back - louder and more outlandish than before. Lance can hardly believe what he's hearing, but worse is the reaction each addition receives. The people are quickly growing frenzied, working themselves up as more and more outright  _ lies _ are spread about wolves and wisps and Alteans. 

 

It's enough to make him nauseous, and he forces himself to block out the tangible  _ hatred _ that fills the air as calls for revenge begin.

 

_ I'm not dead!  _ he wants to scream, slamming his hands over his ears as he pushes closer to the main doors.  _ Are they seriously just giving up trying to find out what happened and blame the fae instead? The wolves?  _

 

It's not a pleasant realization, particularly when neither of his parents move to quell the crowd now drumming a rhythm into the tables with their fists - demanding the forests be cleared of such abominations.

 

But before Lance loses all hope in the people he's supposed to represent, his eyes land on the familiar faces of his suitors. They've all gathered together across from where he's huddled, glancing around the room with as much apprehension as Lance feels. 

 

Hunk looks nervous as he watches his clan down their ale and gather their weapons. Matthew glares daggers at Lord MacDonal as he begins dancing happily in place. Adam is seething as he stares at a spot on the upper balconies, and when Lance follows his gaze he sees Shiro worriedly shaking his head from the shadows. 

 

_ Morrigan take us all, how long has he been there?! _ Lance frets, despising that the man had to hear so many foul things said about his family. 

 

But his attention returns to the group closest to him as the room begins to move with greater urgency - seeing more than just the few who'd been required to fight for his hand. Men and women with equally woeful expressions press closer to the circle, whispering amongst themselves and keeping their hands folded in retaliation as the rest of their clans begin shoving and applauding. 

 

All are young, which Lance finds somewhat reassuring. Biased as the older generations may be, at least  _ some _ sense remains with the youth. And it's the silver lining he needs - jaw set as he inhales deeply and steals one more glance at the group.

 

But someone notices, and for a brief moment of panic all Lance can do is stare back into the momentarily shocked gaze of the youngest Gunderson. 

 

And right when he thinks all is lost - that he's been found out and his plan is foiled - Pidge lifts a hand to his chest, smirking slightly as he nods an unspoken agreement.

 

_ Brighid be blessed! At least I still have a few friends to rely on. _

 

Lance's courage is bolstered, and with a short answering nod, he rises up, balls his fists, and angles himself directly in front of the main doors.

 

And like he'd seen his father do countless times before - like he'd been  _ taught  _ to do his entire life - Lance throws back his hood and keeps his head held high. His chest expands. His lungs fill. And with as much commanding force as he can muster, he makes himself heard by the entirety of the room. 

 

"THIS NEEDS TO STOP!"

 

The reaction is very similar to the previous unexpected shout, though instead of everyone turning to the front where his father still stands, Lance finds himself caught in a collective unblinking gape as every head swivels to the back of the room. A single beat of stunned silence passes, and then chaos erupts as people realize who had spoken.

 

"It's  _ him!" _

 

"The prince!"

 

"Back from the dead?"

 

"Where has he been?!"

 

The mutterings grow in volume, but Lance barely notices them as he steps up onto a nearby table - placing himself on a makeshift pedestal so all can see. His throat is dry. His hands are shaking. He's pretty sure he might pass out at any given moment. 

 

And then he hears her.

 

_ "Lance!"  _

 

His mother's voice carries farther than the others - piercing and unrestricted - and as Lance makes eye contact with her from across the room she lifts an arm as if to beckon him forward. Her expression shows joy. Her eyes cry relief. 

 

And for a second he almost smiles, thinking  _ maybe it will be alright. _

 

But then she speaks.

 

"Somebody  _ seize him!"  _

 

His heart drops, frantically avoiding the arms that try to grab his legs in response to the Queen's instruction. 

 

No... _ no! _

 

He's too late! He's missed his chance! No one will listen. No one will  _ know! _ He's failed Keith. He's failed them all! He's-

 

"Stop!" 

 

Lance glances down to his right, where Pidge has scurried over to attempt blocking the way of a man three times his size. 

 

"Let him speak!" he yells, and before he can be shoved aside Matthew rushes over, brandishing a sword and pushing it threateningly into the faces of those closing in.

 

"Back off! Unless you wish for a re-adjustment?"

 

"We...my lord-" someone tries, Lance vaguely connecting that they wear the same colours as the two Gunderson boys. "It's an order-"

 

"Oh piss off James!" Pidge snarls back. "Since when have you listened anyway!"

 

"I-"

 

"Either you back up on your own or my sword gives you a nudge," Matthew smirks, twisting it towards the man. "And we both know I'm better with a blade."

 

The man - James as he'd been called - hesitates for a few moments before doing as suggested, lifting his arms over his head in surrender. 

 

"Smart decision," Pidge snorts, glancing over his shoulder to shoot Lance a wink. And then Hunk is there, using his bulk to make even more space. He apologizes to everyone he knocks into, but it doesn't stop him from clearing a path that Adam swiftly fills. 

 

"We've got you covered," he informs with a grin, watching as the others from their group join as well - backs to Lance as they form a protective circle around the table on which he stands. 

 

There are a few who try to push passed, but they're quickly stopped by the tight ensemble of defenders at his feet, and when those nearest realize their efforts may be thwarted, the attention drifts back to the front with uncertainty.

 

Lance follows the gaze of the many as it lands on his mother once more. She looks conflicted. Confused. A tad outraged. And when she locks eyes with him he doesn't feel that previous urge to smile. Instead, he feels his resolve harden, his jaw clench, and his brows lower in challenge. 

 

Her mouth opens, but Lance doesn't allow her words to escape. 

 

"This needs to stop," he repeats, more controlled this time. His voice echoes in the rafters, projecting out so no corner is missed. 

 

"Wh-" his mother manages, cheeks flushed as she places a hand to her waist.  _ "What _ needs to stop, Lance?"

 

He can tell she has more to say - more to ask - but he knows she won't dare allow him the opportunity to divulge any details that may jeopardize their name. Though he's not overly fond of her devotion to the social hierarchy, he's more than willing to humour her for the sake of timeliness. 

 

Keith is waiting, after all. A  _ proper _ conversation can happen later. 

 

"All of  _ this!"  _ He gestures around the room with both arms, lingering on the clan leaders before turning back to the front. "This overwhelming hatred against those we don't know! And for what? What is the reason behind it all?" 

 

"Lance, please," she sighs, resting her head in her hand. "Your love of theatrics has caused enough of an uproar these past few days. Let us retire and discuss your whereabouts in private."

 

"This has nothing to do with  _ theatrics!" _ he pleas, agitation growing as he watches her roll her eyes. "This isn't even _ about _ me! This is about-"

 

"It can wait, darling. We're all quite exhausted."

 

"I assure you it  _ can't-" _

 

"I apologize on behalf of my son," she goes on, having the audacity to smile as she takes her attention from him to address the crowd. "I'll be sure to scold him properly for his behaviour."

 

A hesitant laugh ripples through the people, and Lance feels his nails bite into his palms as he clenches his fists.

 

"This is important!"

 

"You may all depart now," she waves distractedly, not even sparing him a glance. "My son will be sure to make things up to you. Forgive him his foolishness-"

 

"No! You all have to stay! You all have to hear me-!"

 

"-it seems he's forgotten his place."

 

_ Oh that's it!! _

 

He's fed up with being ignored - with being reduced to a silly child who knows nothing at all. He's used to his words being neglected. To his wants taking second place. But this is no longer about him. This is about something  _ greater  _ than them all, and that means he can no longer accept the role of meek and obedient. It's time he faces his mother, and if she wants to do this in front of the entire kingdom, then so be it.

 

_ This is for Keith,  _ he thinks with a burst of bravery, _ and I won't be silenced.  _

 

"It is  _ you _ who has forgotten!" he shouts, and the stunned silence that follows provides the perfect void for him to fill. He inhales deeply, keeping his mother the center of his focus as he states what's on his mind.

 

"I am the heir to the throne. I am the prince of this realm and of the people who stand before us!" He lets her go for a moment, turning his gaze to as many faces as he can so they know it's to  _ them _ he speaks. "I am the son of the man who united your clans! Who earned your trust and your faith and your attention! I am your  _ friend!  _ Your neighbour! I am the future so many of you rest your hopes with! I am  _ Lance of clan McClain," _ he turns his glare back to the Queen,  letting her know his final words are meant  _ only  _ for her, "and I  _ will _ be listened to!"

 

A pin could drop and he would hear it - if the pounding of his own heart wasn't preoccupying his eardrums. Lance feels his shoulders rise and fall with each breath, feels the wide-eyed gaping of so many on his face, but he doesn't falter. Nor does he sway. In fact, he's more steady now than he has been in  _ days _ , which is odd, considering he's malnourished, dehydrated, sleep-deprived and  _ just  _ a tad paranoid about the nightmare he'd woken. 

 

But perhaps that's all he needed to finally stand up to his mother. 

 

_ Huh,  _ he almost chuckles.  _ Who knew? _

 

_ "How dare-!"  _ his mother begins to scold when she eventually recovers - cheeks blazing at his nerve to talk back - but she's prevented from doing much more as his father places a hand to her shoulder, shaking his head for her to stop. "But...but  _ Angus _ he-"

 

"Let him finish," his father declares, sending a small, encouraging smile his way. Lance nods his thanks - bewildered but pleasantly so - clearing his throat before addressing the crowd. 

 

“Long ago, when the lands were new and the legends only memories,” he begins, pretending not to notice the way his mother perks at hearing him repeat the story she’d told him the night he’d left. She miraculously keeps quiet, and Lance continues. “Zar of clan Kon held the crown. He was a just man, said to be kind and intelligent, but he married for love, and his kingdom fell apart. Or so we have led ourselves to believe.”

 

He pauses, letting his words sink in as the soft murmur of discussion spreads about the room. 

 

“Zar did not lose his wife and son to wolves, as we tell our children. They were not killed by monsters, or at least, not the kind we think. And for too long we’ve ignored the true cause that drove such a kind ruler to devastation!” 

 

“The Kon clan collapsed because their king was a trollop who fell for a peasant,” someone calls out, and Lance glances down to see Lord MacDonal folding his arms over his chest self-righteously. “Had he chosen the right sort the tale would have ended differently.”

 

“And who, pray tell, are the ‘right’ sort?” Lance challenges, resisting the urge to grind his teeth. 

 

“Why, any belonging to the noble clans! Clearly that is obvious-”

 

“Any?” Lance interrupts, gesturing down at his circle, “or just the ones presented against their will?” 

 

“You little-”

 

“Lance, really-” his mother tries to intervene, but he raises his voice and rides the adrenaline his temper fuels. 

 

“The Kon clan collapsed because of hatred!” he exclaims, making sure his tone is coloured with emotion. “It fell because the kingdom did not trust his judgment! They did not approve of his decision! And rather than accept the one their king loved so dearly, they turned against him! They  _ chose _ hatred! They  _ killed _ because of it! And they created the monster that stalks the dreams of so many!” 

 

He doesn’t clarify who he means, as dropping Mac Tíre into the conversation might derail his point. As it is, those nearest to him shake their heads in disapproval - evidently not believing his version of events. 

 

_ I knew they would be stubborn, _ he admits as his courage fades,  _ but nothing I say will make them believe me! What can I do to- _

 

“It’s the truth!” a voice shouts from above them, and when everyone looks up they see Shiro hanging over the bannister of the upper balcony, waving his good arm down at them all. “What he says is true! Everyone beyond the mountains knows this version of the story!”

 

Lance blinks up at the man, feeling his lips pull upward at the unexpected support. And it helps - which is even  _ more _ surprising. Despite Lord MacDonal’s poorly whispered comment about the northern families having ice for brains, others begin to nod along and confess that perhaps what they know  _ isn’t _ what happened.

 

“My mother is from the Spurs,” someone hushes to their neighbour, “and she used to say the south had a different way of telling the tale.”

 

“I knew a man who lived by the mountains,” another adds, “who claimed his great, great, grandfather was once an original member of the Kon clan.”

 

“I think in our version,” Hunk leans over to Adam after catching Lance’s eye, “Zar’s wife and son drowned after he snubbed our family’s offer to build his fleet of ships.”

 

“My grandmother always told us it was because he offended the fae,” Pidge offers, shrugging. “But then my  _ other _ grandmother said it was because he  _ married _ one.”

 

“Ours is similar to the McClains, apparently,” Adam answers woefully, “though it was a trade partnership rather than a marriage disagreement. Regardless, he still went mad and murdered everyone.” 

 

_ Keith was right, _ Lance almost laughs - realizing for himself how accurate the boy had been when he’d mentioned every clan having their own version of the story to suit their needs. It’s almost ironic, and had he the time he would ask every person in the room to recount their version of the end of clan Kon. But the moon is high and the night grows shorter, meaning Lance needs to cut to the chase. 

 

“Our legends are laced with truths, but they are also riddled with lies,” he quotes what Keith had told him as they stood by the ocean slowing eating away at the Shards. “But no matter which story you grew up knowing, they all end the same. A king forgotten, a lesson learned... But it was never  _ love _ that collapsed the Kon clan. It was our own intolerance. Our own prejudice. Our blind acceptance of hatred against that which we do not understand.”

 

He exhales audibly, letting his gaze return to the front where his parents stand watching - expressions unreadable. His voice softens - not by choice - and he hears himself pleading for them to not only hear, but _ accept  _ his words. To listen and  _ understand _ . 

 

“You taught me so much,” he swallows with some difficulty, finding it harder than he’d anticipated calling into question their teachings. But there comes a time in every child's life where the word of a parent is no longer law. Where their actions can be judged - their morals questioned. Lance always knew that day would come. He just didn’t think it would be in front of so many strangers, all eagerly waiting now that he’s given them something interesting to watch. 

 

“But some of it was wrong. You warned me to never trust the fae, to not chase the wisps, to accept my fate for what it was. And for a long time, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with that, but I know now that we all make mistakes.  _ Me _ especially,” he chuckles brokenly, brows darting up as he fidgets with his cloak.

 

“It’s not a bad thing though, to be wrong. Not if we can accept that, and makes changes for the better. I’ve learned things these past few days that I never thought possible. My eyes have been opened, my beliefs questioned, my heart…” he trails off, biting the inside of his lip as his fingers brush over the wooden wolf in his pocket. And in the resulting flood of gratitude he feels towards Keith for being the one to help him change, Lance finds the rest of the courage he needs to confront his parents - to shake the very foundation upon which the kingdom was built.

 

“Wolves have been blamed for too many of our strifes,” he declares firmly. “And hunting them at the rate we do can no longer be passed off as survival. They have done nothing but act the role of scapegoat in a series of calamitous events that we were too proud to admit were our own doing. Celebrating their death is abhorrent. Actively seeking their destruction will no longer stand! I ask my father, King McClain of the Highlands, to make peace with those who share our forests, and forbid the killing of wolves!” 

 

There’s no great cheer that follows. No one applauds, or whistles, or even nods their approval. Instead, the air grows thick as everyone holds their breath - fearing even a single inhale might shatter the intense atmosphere collecting above them. Lance himself is on edge as he stares at his father - not blinking lest he miss any sort of discernible flicker in those usually humoured eyes. He  _ has _ to say something.  _ Anything!  _ Lance might slip through the cracks in the table beneath him should the unease go on. 

 

_ Please, dad… _ he implores internally.  _ Please hear me. Please listen to me! Please see that I’m being serious here! Lives depend on it! _

 

One life in particular, and Lance wishes he hadn’t given his turquoise stones to Lady Krolia. He’d give  _ anything _ to hear Keith’s voice in his head, telling him it’s alright, that he did his best, and that he’s brave and commendable for standing in front of so many for so long without swearing even once. 

 

“Please,” he hears himself whisper desperately, and the wrong person hears.

 

"What are you on about?" Lord MacDonal chimes up in the heavy silence of the room, smirking as he raises both arms in a display of confusion. "Stop hunting the beasts who prey upon our children? Begin consorting with Alteans and wisps and all manner of strange folk? Sounds like the lad has forgotten the dangers of the real world whilst cavorting carefree and senseless out in the woods!"

 

Some chuckle, but not as many as the first few times the lord tried to make light of what was said.

 

"Wolves are not dangerous," Lance states with barely contained rage. He has no patience left for this man, and with his father choosing to remain silent, his mask of nobility is quickly slipping. "Which you would know if you spent any time in this 'real world' you mention."

 

Several gasps follow, as well as a snicker that's hastily turned into a cough. Lord MacDonal's cheeks darken, and he makes to approach with a hand going to his belt. But Adam moves to stand between them, earning the surprised guffaw of his father.

 

"Out of the way boy!" he demands, attempting to shove Adam aside. "Enough with this nonsense! Know your place!"

 

"My place is here," Adam answers cooly, standing his ground. "And weren't you the one saying it was my duty to fight for him?" 

 

"For his  _ hand _ you daft tart!" Lord MacDonal hisses, gesturing indignantly up at Lance. "You're a  _ suitor _ , not a knight! You should be strategizing how best to win him-"

 

"I am  _ not _ a prize," Lance cuts in, fingers brushing over Keith's dagger hidden behind his cloak. "And you would do well to remember that."

 

"Enough of this," he hears his mother titter in annoyance, saving Lord MacDonal from his wordless spluttering. "Come down at once."

 

"I think I'll stay here thanks."

 

"You're being unreasonable-"

 

"Oh,  _ I'm  _ unreasonable?!" Lance steps forward slightly, careful not to tip over the edge of the table. But he's had enough of this, and like the fire waters of Marmora's Blade, his frustrations  come pouring out. "What's  _ unreasonable _ is blaming wolves for everything! What's  _ unreasonable  _ is spreading lies about this rivalry we supposedly have! What's  _ unreasonable, _ mother-" and he makes sure to enunciate the word more than necessary, boiling it down to a mere two syllables to eradicate any familiarity in the sound, "-is this  _ entire festival!"  _

 

He tears his gaze from her, gesturing around the room before settling on the small group defending him. 

 

"I didn't ask for this! A wedding, a husband, a hand in marriage…" he trails off - purple eyes dancing through his mind. "And I know for a fact that I'm not the only one! None of my suitors would be here were it not for the demands of their parents. None of them wished to compete. They know in their hearts that this is not how love is supposed to work, and - like me - they wish to find it for themselves."

 

"Preposterous," Lord MacDonal scoffs, folding his arms over his chest with a laugh. "As if my son would pass up the opportunity to marry a pri-"

 

"It's true," Adam murmurs - face flushed as he shifts from one foot to the other. His father pauses, slow to process what he'd heard, and Adam clears his throat to repeat his message louder. "What his Highness says is true! I...I love another!"

 

The room inhales as one, shocked whispers carrying upward where Lance knows Shiro still hides. He wonders how the man will make the news, or if it's something he already knew.

 

"You-" Lord MacDonal chokes, looking ready to rampage at any given moment. "He's-  _ lying!" _

 

"I'm not!" Adam retorts, holding firm. "I love someone else! I planned on throwing the competition in order to be with the one my heart chose! And I don't regret it! No offense," he glances back at Lance, who grins reassuringly.

 

"I also love another!" Hunk suddenly pipes up, expression proud and fearful at the same time. But his bravery pushes through, and he smiles brightly out toward the crowd. "She's the most wonderful person I've ever met! And I want to marry her more than anything in this world!"

 

"Hunk!" Chief Garrett grumbles, shoving to the front of his clan. "Why am I only hearing of this now?!"

 

"I've tried to tell you multiple times," the boy answers sheepishly. "But you never listened…"

 

"Well- I mean," but his father doesn't finish his thought, as Lord Gunderson begins to clap.

 

"My my, it seems _ my _ son is the only one  _ willing _ to be here! Shall I count that as another victory?"

 

"Why you-" Lord MacDonal tries, but Matthew interrupts with a drawn-out sigh - Pidge stifling a laugh beside him.

 

"It's true, dad, that I wanted to come. But it wasn't for the prince." 

 

Another round of gasping, which Matthew answers with a chuckle. 

 

"I know, how  _ scandalous _ . But like my would-be rivals-" and he gestures over to Adam and Hunk, "-I had no intention of taking the hunt seriously. In fact, I could care less about marriage. I'm more interested in plants."

 

“Pl- _ plants?!”  _ Lord Gunderson wheezes. “Since  _ when?!” _

 

“Since forever?” Matthew shrugs. “They’ve always fascinated me, and the Highlands have a much more diverse shrub layer in their forests. I've already gathered several samples to take home and analyze!”

 

“I blame your mother for this,” his father laments under his breath. “This is what I get for marrying a woman of the wilds,” but Matthew only rolls his eyes and nudges Pidge lightly.

 

“Curses from the black thumb,” he whispers, sharing in some inside joke that leaves the two of them giggling. And with the atmosphere of the room quickly losing the heft from before, Lance returns his attention back to the front, where his father’s face remains blank.

 

His  _ mother, _ on the other hand, is an open book of expression. Usually, it’s impossible to tell what she’s thinking - which always led Lance to believe he’d inherited the heart on his sleeve from some distant relative he’d never met. But perhaps he’d been looking too far ahead, and the poise and continuously controlled emotional state he’d always associated his mother with were instead born from years of practice, rather than natural talent. 

 

Regardless, it’s alarming seeing so many thoughts cross her face. Confusion furrows her brows, worry etches itself deep in the lines by her eyes, rage sparks with each blink, and hesitation takes the form of her jaw clenching in spasms as she debates which emotion to act on. Lance understands how overwhelming it can be - that sensory befuddlement - and for a brief moment, he sympathizes with her distress.

 

“Put an end to the annual hunt, mum,” he hears himself implore, willing his words to ease her mind. “It’s not too late.”

 

There’s a single flash of agreement - a sigh that  _ almost _ makes it to completion. But she catches herself before it escapes, holding it between tight lips as the scales finally tip in favour of a single emotion. 

 

Unfortunately, it’s not the one Lance had been aiming for.

 

“I think we’ve all heard  _ quite _ enough,” she seethes as she replaces her mask, closing herself off to everyone else. Though Lance doubts anyone besides himself noticed her abrupt shift in demeanor, they recognize exasperation easily enough, and the murmuring comes to an abrupt halt as a void of hostility in the shape of their Queen tears open. 

 

“The annual hunt is a traditional ceremony to honour our alliance with the other clans,” she explains slowly. “Once initiated, it cannot end until a wolf is brought forward. Besides, your hand has been promised to the winning suitor,  _ all _ of whom have already pledged their willingness to fight.” 

 

Her words are daggers thrust into the chests of their victims, and Lance sees Hunk, Adam, and Matthew flinch in his periphery as the hilt sinks deep. They’re as stuck as he is.

 

“But it means nothing!” he still tries, resisting the urge to shrink back as her glare intensifies. “You heard them! You heard  _ me! _ No one wants this! And your reasoning behind why it’s necessary is based on  _ lies!  _ The Kon clan didn’t fall because of some stupid marriage! It fell because his people couldn’t see past their hate! It fell because they didn’t bother learning more about the woman he loved, because they feared her! Misunderstood her! And when they  _ killed _ her, he finally snapped!”

 

Several perplexed looks are exchanged at the new information revealed in heated argument, but neither mother nor son notice. It’s only them now - two equally stubborn personalities clashing once again. 

 

“Lance, this has gone too far!” 

 

“It’s  _ barely _ gone anywhere!”

 

“You’re being ridiculous! Making up stories to suit your needs-”

 

“That’s all anyone in this land has  _ ever done!” _

 

“I expected better from you.”

 

“No, you expected me to remain pliant and do as told! Sorry to disappoint, mum, but I’m not a child anymore!” 

 

“Then stop  _ acting like one!” _

 

_ “Fine!” _ he suddenly shouts, tossing his arms in the air as the word shakes the dust loose from the beams overhead. “Have it your way!”

 

He watches her blink at the unforeseen victory - shock changing to smugness as her shoulders relax. 

 

“At last, you see reason.”

 

“If what you say is true,” Lance goes on, biting the inside of his cheek in his frustration, “then none who pledged to fight can withdraw until a wolf is brought back, correct?”

 

She nods, smiling now.

 

“No exceptions can be made?”

 

“None, I’m afraid,” she answers with unpleasant kindness. “Once the horn has blown, the festival is underway, and shall continue until the requirements are met.”

 

_ Good, _ Lance thinks, feeling things slide in his favour. With his mother’s impatience to have their spat over and done with, she’d seemingly forgotten one  _ crucial _ bit of information. And with her confirmation vocalized in front of so many, turning back on her word now is entirely out of the question.  

 

“Then I must apologize to my suitors,” he declares, resting a hand to his hip as he brushes the other through his hair, “for ending the festival so soon.”

 

“It’s okay-” Hunk begins, then frowns as he processes the rest of the sentence. “Wait, what?”

 

And Lance beams, gesturing to himself as newly awakened murmurings flood to the back of the room.

 

“I, Lance of clan McClain, declared my intentions to fight for my own hand at the start of this annual hunt,” he pauses, letting the implications of his statements settle in. It doesn’t take long at all, and his mother’s gasp is audible as she realizes her mistake. “And I, Lance of clan McClain, am the first to bring back a wolf, meaning I’ve won and the festival is over.”

 

He keeps it short and sweet, humming contentedly at the growing buzz of the crowd. But having something  _ finally _ go his way is so satisfying that Lance can’t help himself. He wants to stir the pot a bit more. Add some salt to the wound. Make his victory so much more savoury as his mother fumes from her spot by the throne. 

 

“Yes, you heard correctly,” he adds just for the fun of it. “With the rules so  _ firm _ and  _ unyielding _ , I had no choice but to remain a competitor. But as luck would have it, I found my wolf and have therefore won. Wasn’t even that hard, really, as if  _ fate _ were smiling upon me.” And  _ oh _ that feels good! He can practically  _ hear _ the twitch in his mother’s eye as face turns three shades of red. “Your applause is appreciated, but unnecessary, all other suitors may bow before me if they so desire, and the clans may depart in the morning with fair winds at their backs-”

 

“Hold on-” Lord Gunderson requests, holding up a hand.

 

“What’s he mean?” Chief Garrett asks, setting down his ax.

 

“What  _ wolf?!” _ Lord MacDonal demands, making his voice the loudest as the clan leaders push closer to his table. “I don’t see a wolf! Your claims are invalid! Where’s your proof! You’re  _ lying-” _

 

“You wish to see him?” Lance interrupts, hating how much he’s enjoying this. He’s careful to avoid his mother’s gaze at this point, and instead turns in the direction of the two massive doors behind him. He hadn't wanted it to come to this, but his options have run out. Words didn't work, so it's time to try the Kogane method - to take drastic measures and show intention with action. 

 

_ I hope they're there, _ he thinks a tad too late, spinning on his heel with both arms extended outward.  _ Otherwise, I'm in for some impromptu explaining. _

 

“Allow me to introduce you,” he announces boldly, praying he can be heard from outside, "to the mightiest wolf there is - the only one  _ truly worthy _ of a prince!"

 

The doors swing open right on soundless hinges, and though he’d never actually told Krolia what the signal would be, he’s relieved to discover she knows how to decipher social cues better than her son. She waltzes in with a sly smirk - knowing the double entendre of Lance's words and ignoring the blatant staring she receives as the crowd parts in awe. But the attention doesn’t last long, as Krolia lifts her arm and tosses something small and turquoise through the air - which Lance catches effortlessly as it sails his way. 

 

He beams down at Allura’s stones now clenched in his fist, feeling his heart race as a familiar voice immediately fills his head.

 

**_Lance! I'm here!_ **

 

Warmth floods through his veins, comforting and tender and addicting, and Lance has to forcibly keep himself from calling out as Keith slowly steps into the hall. Anyone even  _ remotely _ close to the doors jumps backward as he enters - a sizeable gap forming as everyone tries to put as much distance between themselves and the direwolf as possible. It’s a momentary fiasco - filled with startled yelps and frightened whimpering as the room bustles and reacts to the startling appearance of their most fabled enemy. 

 

Some reach for their weapons, but Lady Krolia draws her own sword and shakes her head with a silent warning - one that Lance verbalizes not long after.

 

“No one make any move to harm him!” he orders, raising his own arms for quiet. “He won’t hurt you.”

 

“How can you  _ say that?!” _ Lord MacDonal squeaks, now cowering behind several of his men. “You’ve brought a  _ wolf into the castle!” _

 

“Yes, well,” Lance shrugs, “you asked for proof.”

 

"I expected a  _ pelt!  _ Or a head! This is against the rules!"

 

"I believe the requirements were only to 'bring one back'. There was no mention of  _ how. _ "

 

He hears someone begin to laugh somewhere above him - Shiro, likely - but keeps himself from joining in. Fun as it is pointing out the loopholes of the hunt, he  _ did  _ just bring Keith into a very dangerous place. He needs to be on guard for anyone feeling bold enough to try anything. 

 

“But-but that’s not even a regular  _ wolf! _ That’s a bloody  _ direwolf!” _ Lord MacDonal points out, though anyone would have guessed that already just based off Keith’s size. “Those aren’t supposed to exist! Where did you find something so monstrous?!”

 

“It’s a long story,” Lance muses, shamelessly basking in the awed horror on everyone’s face. “But we sort of found each other.” 

 

**_You’re enjoying this, aren’t you,_ ** Keith hums, nose twitching as his ears dart forward. And, oh…Lance had forgotten how pretty he was. 

 

His  _ coat, _ he means. Not his eyes or his voice or his stupid dopey grin he can picture accompanying the playful accusation. But he feels himself smile regardless, ignoring the cries of outrage from behind him to focus solely on Keith. 

 

Because there he is! In all his direwolf splendor! 

 

And  _ wow. _ Lance had missed him? 

 

_ We weren’t even separated for that long! _ he reasons, but it’s no use. Apparently he’d grown dependent on the constant chatter of Keith’s thoughts mixing with his own, and the silence of solitude hadn’t been as peaceful as Lance had thought. In fact, he’d sort of  _ hated _ it. 

 

_ But he’s here now! I just have to show everyone that what I said is worth listening to! _

 

**_Are you sure this is a good idea?_** Keith asks with a hasty glance around the room. There aren’t a lot of places to run in such a confined space, and even with the ever-increasing gap between him and the gathered people, his size inflates the potential risk of someone getting trampled underfoot should the uneasy indecision of the masses take shape. **_Do you_** ** _think this will work?_**

 

Lance nods as discreetly as possible, not wanting to reveal  _ who _ the direwolf is just yet. He needs to show his father first - let him hear for himself the truths they’ve uncovered, the  _ real _ enemy waiting - before dropping more difficult-to-process facts. 

 

So with a quick wink Keith’s way, Lance turns back to the front. His mother looks ready to faint - pale and shaking as she stares unblinkingly at the wolf blocking the double doors of the main hall - but Lance bypasses her in favour of addressing his father. He’s been silent for too long, and the night is running out. 

 

“Dad,” he calls, gripping the turquoise stones tightly as Keith whispers an encouraging ‘good luck’. “I know this goes against everything you’ve done. I know you united the clans to drive the wolves out, and I don’t fault you for that. Maybe it was necessary at the time, but you and I  _ both  _ know that what was once done to keep everyone safe is no longer needed. Wolves aren’t a threat anymore. And, if you trust me, you might even agree that they never were, to begin with.”

 

He extends his arm, failing to hide the quiver in his fingers as he holds out the bracelet. 

 

“I’ve learned more than I can understand while I’ve been gone,” he continues, hoping his vagueness can be forgiven. “And it was hard for me to accept what I was shown as holding any validity. It went against what I’d been taught. What I’d heard from others. What I’d  _ thought _ I’d seen for myself. But I was eventually able to come to terms with it, though I had help.”

 

He glances back at Keith, whose tail wags slightly in response.

 

“Admitting our faults is one of the hardest things a person can do,” he goes on with a quick inhale, returning his gaze to the king. “But it takes the  _ most _ courage to admit the faults of  _ generations _ . So much so that only someone of immense strength can carry the burden of asking forgiveness, of making amends to those that suffered our misunderstandings. I know you can be that someone, dad,” he shakes the fist holding the stones, emphasizing them until his father’s gaze slowly drifts their way. It’s a small reaction, but it’s something to go off of, and with it Lance steps down from the table.

 

“I know it’s a lot to ask.” 

 

He takes a step forward - Adam and Hunk exchanging glances before moving aside. And like a chain-reaction the rest of the crowd begins to part, making room for him as he approaches the throne.

 

“But you have to trust me on this one,” he urges, keeping his eyes on his father as he slowly progresses forward. He recognizes some of the faces he passes, but for the most part, it’s a sea of strangers that splits for his vessel, allowing him to make his way forward unhindered. 

 

“Do you trust me?” 

 

And he comes to stop in the middle of the room, keeping his arm out and his grip tight, Keith’s worry tangible in his mind. But he can’t go any farther. His father has to meet him halfway - accept his word as truth and see for himself what has been discovered. 

 

_ He just has to hear Keith speak. Hear his side of things. See for himself that wolves are not to be feared any longer. _

 

But he can’t force that kind of change of opinion, no matter who he is to the King. It has to be a choice. A decision. And all Lance can do now is show him that it’s one worth making. 

 

“Do you  _ trust me?” _

 

And as if he’d been abruptly struck, his father snaps out of whatever reverie had kept him frozen and unresponsive. His eyes blur, his cheeks dimple, and when he smiles it’s with such pride that it almost has Lance tearing up himself. 

 

“You’re my son,” he says at last - voice gruff and deep but ringing with respect - catching on the end syllables with a slightly higher pitch. “Of  _ course  _ I trust you.”

 

He strides into the crowd himself, which parts much more swiftly as he moves to meet Lance in the middle. 

 

**_You did it!_ ** Keith cheers from behind him - Lance grinning now as he sees his father draw closer.  **_He’s listening! Lance! But...uh...what do I say!?_ **

 

_ Anything!  _ Lance wants to answer, but that would entail yelling across a room full of perplexed clansmen who are likely at their maximum capacity for witnessing odd behaviours.  _ Just tell him what you told me!  _

 

**_Oh Morrigan take me, this is stressful,_ ** Keith frets somewhat adorably.  **_Okay, I can do this. Just remain calm. Do what mom told me to do. Keep it short. Keep it relevant. Don’t mention anything that I don’t have to. Like how proud I am of Lance. Or how awesome he is. And brave. And talented. And-_ **

 

_ Keith, focus!  _ Lance coughs, face heating at the onslaught of compliments. He briefly wonders what manner of conversation took place between him and Krolia that she knew enough to give him advice, but that’s a question for a different time. His father is almost within reach, and Lance pushes forward slightly - ready to hand over the bracelet. 

 

And when his father does the same, arm extending over the few remaining people standing between them, Lance can feel his relief building. Any moment now, and the curse will be lifted. The truth will be told. Hearts will be changed. And the entire kingdom will be able to move into a new era of peace between all beings. 

 

It’s a daunting thought, but one Lance finds equally exhilarating, and with a last stretch he finds his hand hovering over that of his father’s open palm. Their eyes meet - both nodding as Keith preps himself for his speech. But before Lance can release the stones, a shrill song carries out from across the hills, through the open doors and into the main hall. 

 

Candles flicker as if a breeze had come through, but no wind is felt as a unanimous shiver lifts the hairs on everyone’s neck. The room falls into an immediate hush - eyes wide and pulses erratic - no one daring to move as the echo grows in volume, reaching an eerie pitch that causes a tremor to begin in Lance’s legs.

 

Because he knows this sound. 

 

He’s heard it before.

 

And it's a howl he'd thought himself - even temporarily - free of. 

 

_ No! It’s impossible! _

 

He’s turning before it fully ends, hearing Keith’s panicked thoughts mirror his realizations as the crowd begins to frenzy.

 

**_How can this be?!_** **_There’s no way he’s here! Lance...Lance! What do we-_**

 

His thoughts suddenly cut out, and when Lance sees his direwolf fall forward with his ears pressed flat to the back of his head, his top priority is suddenly going back the way he’d come.

 

_ “Keith!” _ he shouts, knowing what that howl means. What it does! “Keith! Listen to me!” 

 

He’s pushing now, but the people around him are equally disturbed - moving independently of each other in mass hysteria. 

 

“It’s another wolf!” someone shouts, waving their arms and narrowly missing Lance’s head as he ducks around them.

 

“He’s brought an entire  _ pack!” _ another voice tacks on. “They’ll kill us all!”

 

“I’ve never heard a howl like that before!”

 

“How could we have been so foolish to let one in?!”

 

“What was he thinking?” 

 

“What is he  _ doing?!” _

 

Something grabs onto his cloak, tugging him backward roughly.

 

“What have you done you, idiot prince!” Lord MacDonal demands, spitting each word as his grip tightens. “You’ve put us all in danger, bringing that thing here-”

 

“KEITH!” Lance shrieks, watching him struggle as another howl rips through the air. It’s closer this time. Louder. 

 

**_Lance- I can’t-!_ **

 

_ I need to get to him! _

 

“Answer me!” Lord MacDonal yells in his face, but the man is abruptly shoved aside as the King reaches them.

 

“Get your hands off my son!” he bellows sharply, freeing Lance from the hold. “Lance what-”

 

But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence. As soon as Lance can move again he’s running - shoving bodies out of his way as he fights to get back to Keith. 

 

“Hang on!” he yells, hearing several screams as Keith begins to sway dangerously back and forth. The hall isn’t meant to fit a direwolf and a few hundred terrified adults, and it shows by the escalating violence in which the crowd reacts. Lance is kicked. He’s scratched. He almost trips three times but  _ miraculously _ manages to keep his footing. Keith is getting closer, but his thoughts are slipping away like water held in cupped hands. He’s losing himself, and Lance  _ promised  _ he’d keep that from happening. 

 

He’s not about to go back on that. 

 

“Keith!” he huffs as he jumps over the table he’d been using as a pedestal. He has no idea where his suitors went, but it’s likely for the best that they aren’t in such close vicinity. Not that Keith would hurt them. He would  _ never _ hurt anyone! “Keith, I’m here!” 

 

He sinks to his knees, placing his hands on either side of Keith’s face and pulling it upward so their eyes meet. And it’s not good.

 

Purple is hastily being taken over by black, and Keith pulls against his grip with a pitched whine that instantly tears Lance’s heart in two. 

 

“Keith!” he calls again, desperately reaching to cover golden ears. “Block it out! Don’t listen! You have to fight it, okay? You can fight it! Don’t leave me!” 

 

Keith stills for a moment - body going rigid as his hackles lift and shoulders rise and fall with each feverish breath -  and his eyes open wide as they stare directly back at Lance.

 

Only a sliver of amethyst remains, ringing the outer irises as a flurry of emotions dance across what remains of the Kogane suitor. Lance holds his breath - the world around him a blur of static noise - begging,  _ pleading, _ that Keith hears him. He  _ has _ to! He can’t go now! Not when they were  _ so close! _

 

“Keith,” he whispers, voice broken and restless. “Please, Keith! Come back!”

 

There's a second where it feels like he might. A brief whisper in his thoughts that Lance clings to in hope. 

 

But then a third howl - harsher and more commanding than the last - cascades across the valley.

 

_ "NO!"  _ Lance tries to block the sound, but he's not quick enough. Keith blinks, and when his eyes open again they’re obsidian. Dark as night when the moon is hiding and the stars won’t shine. They’re beautiful eyes, really, but they’re not the ones Lance wanted to see. 

 

They’re not  _ Keith’s. _

 

Which means he’d failed.

 

“No... _ no!”  _ he sobs, grabbing fistfuls of fur as the massive head lifts. Someone behind him shouts a warning - one Lance  _ thinks _ he should heed - but in his despair, he doesn’t hear it, and too late he realizes what might have been said.

 

Keith draws back, teeth bared and eyes feral, a sickening growl slipping passed a frothing mouth. Lance can do nothing but watch in stunned disbelief as the wolf jerks forward - jaw gaping as hot breath sweeps over his skin.

 

_ This is how I die, _ a small, almost accepting voice mutters somewhere in the whirlwind of Lance’s thoughts, but it’s overpowered by another voice coming from behind him.

 

_ “Get back!”  _ his father hollars, and Lance once again feels a tug on his cloak that pulls him away just in time to narrowly avoid having his face bitten off. His head slams against the floor - a sharp pain forcing him out of his denial - and sees his father swing a massive broadsword directly above him. The resulting gust of wind from the movement dances over Lance’s face, and he scurries back until he’s able to sit up and call out.

 

“Don’t hurt him!” he begs, watching the direwolf jump out of reach of the blade. Were the room bigger, he might have been able to avoid it entirely, but as is it his hind legs bump into the wall, allowing the sword to slice into his right shoulder.

 

Lance screams when Keith does, scrambling to his feet to shove his father aside. 

 

"Stop!  _ Please!" _

 

"Get to safety!" his father demands instead, though there's no point. With blood soaking into his fur, Keith retreats back to the main entrance, sprinting through the doors so fast he’s a smudge of grey and gold and then he’s gone. The night swallows him up - and when Lance tries to follow he’s held back by a firm grip on his arm.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?!” his father demands, furious as he scans the room. “You were almost  _ killed!” _

 

“He didn’t mean it!” Lance exclaims, struggling to free himself and give chase. “I can’t leave him! He needs me! I  _ promised I’d bring him back!” _

 

“I shouldn’t have humoured you!” his father curses, motioning a group over. “Gather your men. We’re hunting that  _ beast _ down! Tonight!”

 

“NO!” 

 

“And as for  _ you, _ ” he turns back to Lance, expression stern but eyes conflicted. Unlike his mother, though, his father is quick to make a decision. “You’re staying here. Coran!”

 

The man appears out of nowhere, looking just as shocked as the rest of them.

 

“Yes, Highness?”

 

“Keep him locked up,” his father orders, handing him over for Coran to take. “Make sure he doesn’t leave the castle.”

 

“But dad!  _ Please!  _ He didn’t mean it! You have to listen-”

 

“I  _ tried _ to listen, Lance! And you were almost killed because of it! You put us all in danger with that stunt, and I will not have you doing it again!”

 

“It’s not what you think!” 

 

But his father won't hear it, already distributing weapons and making plans with the other clan leaders. Lance tries to pull against Coran’s grip, but the man is stronger than he looks, and keeps him rooted in place with a mournful apology.

 

“I’m sorry, prince, but I mustn't let you go.”

 

It’s then that his legs give out, and Lance sinks to the floor with a heavy head and a torn heart - breathing raggedly as he hears a distant,  _ familiar _ howl answer the first. 

 

_ No...no, no, no…! _

 

But regardless of how much he wills it, the situation doesn’t change. The nightmare doesn’t end. He watches uselessly as his father leaves and the room drains - calls for vengeance drowning out the wind in the trees.

 

And in the silence that remains by the few who chose to stay, Lance cries. Like a stack of cards and a passing breeze, he falls apart. Hollow and empty and lost, he stares out at the forests painted in silver, watching the orange glow of lit torches disappear between the trees.

 

He stares out until the shapes all merge into one shadow - black as the coat of the demon wolf who stole away the purple Lance had come to cover. 

 

He feels nothing. Knows nothing. Does nothing but sit limply in Coran's arms. 

 

And in the haze of his disorientation, a single fact takes shape - repeating until it forces Lance to blink away his tears and accept its truth. 

 

That he failed.

 

That nothing changed. 

 

That Keith is gone, and the  _ real _ hunt has begun. 

  
  
  



	11. Truths be told

There's a moment amidst the chaos where everything seemingly stops. All the noise, all the commotion, all the blurry shapes and colours and faces...it all slows as Lance watches the darkness from outside soak into the room. 

 

 _He's gone..._ a voice whispers disjointedly, and Lance feels himself sink heavier into the floor. 

 

Lights dim. Yelling fades. It's like several woollen tartans were tossed over him at once, muffling every sense. And it's not the worst sensation in the world - this numbness. It's empty and somewhat calm, which is nice, and it allows him to fall without fear of collision. 

 

There are no walls. No jagged rocks at the bottom of the descent. No beginning and no end to remind him of what just happened. There's only a void expanding out from his chest that he slips into without resistance. 

 

A metaphorical blanket wraps tighter around his chest, and Lance closes his eyes as he submerges into the darkness coiling tentatively around his field of vision. 

 

It's better once everything is black. There are no shadows to play with his imagination. No shapes to convince him that something lurks in the corner, blurring the lines of recognition. In the dark he's safe. There's only himself and his breath in his ears. His hands clasped tight together, fingers trembling as his nails bite into his skin. 

 

 _It's not real,_ he repeats: a mantra he clings to desperately as sweat beads on his brow. _This isn't real. This didn't happen!_

 

"Wake up, wake up, wake _up!"_  

 

His voice is muffled, like hearing it from across the room, and it reminds him of when he was a child and would seek refuge from the night beneath the covers of his bed. There he was safe. Protected. Invisible. 

 

There he would reason with what he'd dreamt. Make sense of the fear. Will it away until the last tendrils slipped between the grates of his memory. 

 

There he would remain until his pulse slowed and his exhaustion mounted, feeling his body grow heavier with the promise of a better sleep.  

 

It's safe beneath the covers, but the weight and darkness are only comforting for so long. Soon it becomes stuffy. Hot. Suffocating. And all at once the nightmares are nothing at all compared to the lack of oxygen that forces him back to the world beyond his sheets.

 

Soothing as it may be, cowering beneath the blankets is not a sustainable practice, and Lance feels his eyes begin to water as his throat tightens and restricts his breathing. He can't get a proper lungful of air. Inhaling is a chore, and each exhale is quicker than the last.

 

He wants to escape now. Leave the darkness behind and face the demons hovering just outside. The temporary haven of denial he'd manifested is no longer a safe place, but unlike the covers of his bed, there is nothing to draw back. No fabric to grasp, no sheets to toss aside. 

 

He's trapped in the heavy darkness pressing down on him from all sides - clawing at nothing as he slowly poisons himself with each breath. 

 

 _I'm going to die here,_ he thinks with unexpected rationality. _Right here. On the floor by the entrance with the throne at my back._

 

His lungs are screaming, muscles burning, tears streaming relentlessly down his face.

And had he the energy to spare, Lance thinks he would waste it by laughing at the irony of it all. 

 

_The crown prince: killed by a panic attack. And the best part is they'd still find a way to blame it on wolves!_

 

Everything grows lighter, but not in a way that counteracts the weight on his body. Rather, it's the sensation of his brain starving for a breath that won't come, and Lance feels his heart slip free from its cavity as it beats without rhythm. 

 

He's being pulled deeper beneath the covers, and he's helpless to get out. He's falling, and there's nothing to break it as the darkness soaks into his body and colours it hopeless.

 

But then someone calls his name.

 

_"Lance of clan McClain."_

 

He blinks as the sensation of gravity pulling him eternally downward pauses, but the world around him remains a black landscape. 

 

 _"Lance of clan McClain,"_ the voice repeats, and he recognizes it immediately - the soft tones of laughter lingering on the edges of her words, like a joke only she is privy to.

 

"Allura?!" 

 

He whirls but sees nothing. There is only darkness and a firm surface on which he now rests. 

 

"Where are you-" he tries but is cut off by a dainty sigh that whistles around him like a playful breeze. 

 

_"What are you doing, Lance of clan McClain?"_

 

"I-" but he breaks off as a faint star appears on what he assumes to be the horizon. He focuses on it as it grows and pulses with pink light, casting shadows through a once impenetrable void.

 

_"This is a strange place for one born of the sun to hide. I did not expect you to give up so easily. To run away once the tides turned."_

 

Her voice hums with amusement, and Lance feels himself frown in mild annoyance at her observations.

 

"I'm not _hiding!"_ he retorts, feeling his fingers ball into fists as a sour taste fills his mouth. "And how _dare_ you accuse me of running away when you fled the _moment_ I needed you the most!"

 

He stands then, walking purposefully towards the light as his voice grows with his anger. 

 

"Why didn't you warn me of the effect your magic would have?! Or that Keith would be trapped as a direwolf for eternity? Why not mention Zar of clan Kon and try to prevent me from changing my fate?!"

 

She laughs, and the sound shakes free a shade of darkness from his surroundings. 

 

_"You speak as if you would have listened."_

 

His mouth opens to answer with a heated claim that he would have, but it never makes it past his lips. Allura - as obnoxiously deviant as she is - is right. The whole reason he had sought her out was to find a way to be listened to, but over the last few days, he'd come to realize that _listening_ was something he'd needed to achieve first. 

 

As much as it pains him to admit it, Lance knows he wouldn't have believed her warnings had she given them. He was blind in his desire to change his fate, and back then, Zar was still a myth. 

 

He bites his tongue and exhales audibly, the fight not entirely going out of him.

 

"Then why didn't you give me more _time?"_

 

The humming returns, warming him despite his frustrations towards the owner.

 

 _"Time is a fleeting concept,"_ Allura sighs dreamily, and Lance can almost picture the expression that would accompany such a statement. _"It passes, yes, but it is only truly felt by those who bind themselves to it, such as yourself."_

 

"But _you_ were the one who bound me to it!" Lance grunts, pointing an accusatory finger up at the star. "You gave me _two sunrises_ , remember?!"

 

 _"Two sunrises and a day,"_ she admits, _"and think of what you have accomplished within that fragment of time."_

 

"I-" but again he falters as he thinks back to everything he and Keith had done with the small amount of time they'd been given. And once more Allura is right. 

 

_I've learned so much already, and done things that I wouldn't have thought possible. It's only been a few days, but so much has changed._

 

_The past I knew as truth, the lies I accepted out of ignorance, the rumours I was fed about a clan I didn't know…_

 

 _I've changed,_ Lance confesses as his fists lose their tension. _Along with everything else._

 

 _"You see?"_ Allura continues knowingly. _"When humans are made aware of time - reminded of the power you have granted it over your lives - amazing things can follow."_

 

"I wouldn't call the things Zar did amazing," Lance grumbles as his arms fold over his chest. "He killed so many, and wolves suffered the most because of his actions."

 

_"Amazing does not always mean good, Lance of clan McClain. Amazing can be evil. Devastating. Fate changing."_

 

He grunts in response, recalling the grey nature of this particular Altean and not bothering to question her beliefs as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

 

"Still, you could have given me more time."

 

The star pulses brighter, and the shadows begin to take familiar shapes around him. Muted colours return, and the air feels fresher as it enters his lungs.

 

_"I cannot control what is done within the time given. The choices you make are your own, and if I recall correctly, one sunrise remains on the horizon of your destiny."_

 

Lance feels his breath hitch: a rush of determination filling the spaces anguish had carved into his resolve. 

 

 _"Fate can change in a mere second, Lance of clan McClain,"_ Allura goes on, voice fading with the darkness. _"The night grows brighter, but do not focus on this. Choose your own path. Make your own decisions. Let prophecy guide you, but do not expect it to lead the way. Only you can do that."_

 

"But how?!" he pleads, running now as he feels her presence dim. "Keith is gone and I don't know where he went! I have no idea where to look! Especially with dawn so near!" 

 

 _"Wolves are hard to follow,"_ he hears whispered as Allura's star flickers in the growing light, _"but the heart is not."_

 

Lance gasps as the voice of his mother suddenly slips into his mind, retelling the warnings of wolves and wisps and wishes in the woods. 

 

_It is our hearts we must trust. Only the heart knows our true desires. Only the heart can change our fates._

 

 _"Find them Lance,"_ Allura urges gently, and he squints now as he tries to focus on where her voice originates _._ But it's difficult now as the void he'd slipped into cracks and crumbles with streams of heatless flame. _"Change the fates of many. Do not let the darkness win."_

 

He blinks as she vanishes, and all at once the world comes rushing back in.

 

* * *

 

 

He's no longer in the entrance hall by the front doors - a fact he's made aware of by the lack of cold stone beneath his palms. There's a gentle swaying in his arms and legs, along with a steady pulse by his ear as his face presses into a warm shoulder. 

 

It's a disorientating moment of confusion as his eyes open to a ceiling made blurry by hurried steps, but the echoes of Allura's conversation bring stability to the dizziness, and Lance jolts upright in the arms of whoever is carrying him.

 

"Highness!" Coran yelps as he nearly loses his grip - Lance's stomach flipping as he's almost dropped. But the man keeps his footing and only pauses for a moment, hurriedly continuing down the hall as another voice follows after them.

 

"Lance!" his mother cries in relief, having watched him regain consciousness and rushing closer to the two. "You scared us half to death!"

 

 _Morrigan take me,_ Lance curses as he rubs his eyes and struggles against Coran. He has no time for this. He needs to find Keith! 

 

"Let me down," he orders when his efforts prove futile. "I can walk on my own."

 

Coran gulps as his eyes dart over to his queen, and Lance sighs in defeat as she immediately shakes her head.

 

"You need rest and a doctor. Look at the state of you! Dehydrated and thin...your hair is a mess and your clothing is in tatters! Do you know how long it took me to make this sash?!" She moves to touch the tartan tied around his torso, but Lance pushes her hand away and tries to flip out of Coran's hold. 

 

He succeeds to an extent, but his feet don't catch him in time to prevent him from falling on all fours with a pained grunt. Coran gasps in shock as his mother crouches in concern.

 

"Lance! You are not fit to walk! You collapsed in the entrance hall after that _beast_ tried to attack you-"

 

"He _didn't!"_ Lance interrupts, scurrying back. But the motion is too quick for his head to handle, and his vision spins sickeningly. His mother shoots Coran a look, who hastily takes Lance by the arm and hoists him upward before leading him into a nearby room.

 

He's set down on something soft, and the man mutters a quick apology before moving back as his mother shuts the door behind them.

 

"Lance," she chastises, gesturing for Coran to stand guard outside. He does, and with a final mournful glance Lance's way he slips back into the hall. 

 

It's just the two of them now, and Lance worries his patience won't be enough to get him out of the situation.

 

 _But I can't let this become another argument,_ he decides as he watches his mother kneel before him and fiddle with his cloak. _This time I need to listen. And somehow I have to make her do the same._

 

So he inhales deeply before taking her hands in his own, ignoring the look of surprise that crosses her face.

 

"Mum," he begins slowly, squeezing her fingers in his own as he tries to find the words. "You need to let me go out there and bring him back."

 

She blinks: expression shifting from startlement to worry as she reaches a hand up to feel his forehead. 

 

"Listen to you," she mutters under her breath, not finding the fever she had likely been hoping to blame. "Chatting such nonsense. You need to sleep, darling. I'll have the cooks make some soup and-" 

 

"Mum. _Please."_

 

She pauses, eyes shifting over his face as he stares into hers. And there must be something in his expression that warns her of the direness of it all. Some hint in his tone that promises his intent. Her mouth opens and closes as she decides how to react, and after a moment of deliberation, she sighs and nods, allowing him to explain.

 

She's listening. _Finally_ listening! Now all Lance has to do is speak. 

 

It's an opportunity he's been waiting for for a while now, but now that it's here, within his grasp, he finds himself at a loss for words. How can he possibly begin to explain everything? Where should he even start? And how much time can he waste recounting his whereabouts when he has so little of it to work with?

 

_How do I make her understand me?_

 

The answer comes with the pulse in his ears, and Lance breathes deeply to steady himself before ignoring his thoughts and speaking from the heart. 

 

"Why did you run when they asked you to marry?" 

 

He can tell it's not the question she had been expecting. It takes _him_ by surprise as well, but he knows deep down that it was the right one to ask. He needs her perspective on things. Her reasoning. Her side of the story Coran had told the night Keith became a direwolf.

 

"Who told you that?" she hisses in alarm, a rare flash of panic in her eyes. "I...it wasn't-! Don't try and weasel your way out of this by bringing up such a thing. The situations are not at all the same-"

 

"They are, Mum," Lance cuts her off smoothly, tightening his grip on the hand he still holds. "But this isn't about the annual hunt, or the suitors, or the clans. This is about you and me, and the choices you made to change your fate. So tell me: why did you run?" 

 

"I…" she struggles to begin, as if hoping for him to change his mind and say something else, but Lance remains quiet as he waits, and eventually she lowers her gaze to her hands. 

 

"I was furious," she states simply, not bothering to make any excuses. But it's more than Lance had been expecting, almost certain that she would wave him off with another lecture. "Marriage was never something I concerned myself with, and to suddenly hear it was my only option...well…"

 

 _So you_ do _understand,_ Lance almost comments, but decides to hold back as his mother stands to move by the fire. 

 

"I ran because I was young and naive about how the world worked. I didn't know about the strength that came with the binding of family names. I didn't bother with trivial matters such as trade deals and economic welfare. I…" and she trails off for a moment to stare into the flames, a small smile playing at her lips, and in their glow her face appears younger. Wilder. Almost mischievous beneath a warm orange glow. 

 

"I wanted to be a ranger," she confesses almost proudly, and Lance feels himself stand in response. 

 

"You...a _ranger?!_ Like hunting and exploring and such?" he bursts, unable to help himself as she turns to him with a guilty nod. "But you _hate_ things like that! Getting dirty, being outside in the wild...I've _never_ seen you show interest in archery!"

 

She laughs shyly, almost blushing as a hand goes to her hip.

 

"I confess it's been a few years since I've used a bow, but you don't _truly_ think you inherited your marksmanship from your _father,_ do you?"

 

_I...what?!_

 

"He's the one who taught me!"

 

"And who do you think taught him?" she shrugs, turning back to the fire when Lance joins her. She bumps against his arm and smirks proudly. "I could hit the cork from a wine bottle a field length away and not break the glass. Your father, on the other hand, had to abandon that trick lest our stores run dry." 

 

She chuckles in remembrance, running her hands over her arms to ward off a chill as her smile fades.

 

"But it's true. I wanted nothing more than to explore the wilderness beyond the mountains. Map the fjords. Carve my name in the sands of the Somerisles."

 

"Then...why didn't you?" Lance presses, thinking back to what Coran had said about her choice. "Dad said you could leave if you wanted. Why didn't you follow your heart?" 

 

She glances over at him with a raised brow, likely putting two and two together that someone had told him most of the tale already. But rather than ask who again, she sighs and shakes her head, playing with the golden ring decorating her finger.

 

"What makes you think I didn't?" 

 

That throws Lance for a loop, but the landing is soft as he remembers the words Allura had spoken.

 

_Fate can be changed in a mere second. So she fell in love and decided to stay. She chose Dad over her freedom to explore._

 

"I realized in my brief time away in hiding that I was being selfish," his mother continues, noticing the frown on his face. "And the choices I thought I had to make were not black and white. I could run away forever and do as I pleased, but what would that accomplish? Which lives would I change? Would I be content living in the world ignoring every chance I was given to change it?"

 

"You still could have done all that without marrying, you know."

 

"I could have, yes," she hums, reaching a hand up to caress his cheek, thumb tracing lightly over the scar beneath his eye. "But then I never would have had you, and you and your brothers are the best changes I've made to this world. Besides, your father and I did our fair share of adventuring before they crowned him king. And travelling is _far_ more enjoyable with the company of another."

 

 _You're telling me_ , Lance withholds a chuckle as he thinks back to his brief time spent with Keith, but he sobers quickly enough as he peeks over at his mother.

 

Coran was right about the two of them not being so different, and now that he's brought them to the point of civil conversation, Lance needs to use this moment to tell her his side of things.

 

He inhales once and balls his fists before letting all the tension go in a single breath. 

 

"I respect the choices you made, Mum," he starts hesitantly, keeping his tone neutral as he feels the wooden wolf in his pocket. "But you don't get to make every one. You don't _have_ to make every one. Not anymore. Not for me."

 

"Lance, that was never my intention-"

 

"I know," he cuts her off gently, placing a hand on her shoulder as he pulls out Keith's gift for her to see. It catches the firelight beautifully, casting shadows across the carved fur in such a way that one would swear it was alive as Lance holds it carefully between his fingers. His mother gapes down at it in awe, before lifting her eyes to meet his.

 

"Did you make this?" she asks in hushed tones, and Lance shakes his head.

 

"It was given to me," he answers, flushing at the rush of affection that colours his voice. "The first wolf presented to the prince, and I was foolish enough to-"

 

He cuts short, biting his tongue as he recalls the hurt in Keith's eyes as he'd so rudely rejected the offer that had been made. 

 

 _Now's not the time for regret though,_ he reasons, forcing himself back on track.

 

"I know that everything you do, you do for us. For _me._ And there's nothing I appreciate more! But Mum, I'm not like you in every regard. I won't always make the same decisions you would. When you were faced with marriage, you ran, and so did I. But when you were given the choice to leave, you stayed. Would you have done that had you not fell in love with Dad?" 

 

"There was more to it than that-"

 

"And I would love to hear that story one day, Mum, but you have to believe me when I tell you I don't have much time anymore." He stares down at the wolf in his hand, watching her do the same. "I've made a lot of choices these past few days. Some were the wrong ones, and I'm still trying to fix those, but a lot of them were _good._ A lot of them I'd make again and again if given the chance, even knowing all that would happen if I did." 

 

He drops his voice to a pleading hush, holding her gaze when it flicks up to meet his.

 

"Dad gave you an option when you saved him: to go if you wished. I'm asking you to give me that same choice." 

 

"Lance…"

 

 _"Please,"_ he whispers: voice broken as a single tear slips down over his cheek. "My choice is still out there, and I have to go and bring him back. I have to _save_ him! I can't leave him to die, just like you couldn't leave Dad. But in order to do that you need to let me go. Please, Mum...I can't live with any other fate..."

 

She stares up at him for a long while - expression unreadable as her lips remain in a tight line. And he waits, not daring to say anything more lest that hasten an unfavourable outcome. Lance doesn't know what he'll do if she locks him here in this room, preventing him from reaching Keith before the sun rises and the spell settles into permanence. He could potentially break out through the window, or else try and convince Coran to let him go, but that would take time, and he's already wasted too much of it. 

 

But thankfully, he doesn't have to plan a great escape. His mother's hand eventually reaches out to touch the head of the wooden wolf, trailing down to the piece of blue tartan Lance had used to fix the broken pieces. 

 

"Are you sure about this?" she murmurs in reluctant acceptance, and he nods with a growing smile.

 

"As sure as the wolf howls at the moon."

 

She lets her hand drop down to her side after that, turning towards a wardrobe at the back of the room. And it's then he realizes that it's hers he's in, not having noticed beforehand. An unfinished tapestry hangs on the other side of the bed, showing a detailed portrait of himself in their family colours. There's a space beside him where the beginnings of a hand have been traced out in charcoal, but the final form of whoever he's meant to be standing next to have not yet been decided.

 

He shudders regardless, knowing from the ornate flowery patterns and runes of binding bordering the piece that this is his wedding tapestry, or at least part of it. 

 

He turns away from it with a heavy unease, still unsure how _that_ matter will be resolved, if it hasn't already. But that's a conversation for another, less _stressful_ time. 

 

He turns back to his mother, who is practically fully within the wardrobe at this point, cursing incomprehensibly under her breath.

 

"What are you…" he starts, watching her rummage through cloaks and gowns and tartans as she reaches for something in the very back. But he trails off when he sees her straighten and turn, holding out a bow for him to take with a triumphant sigh.

 

"This was mine," she admits fondly, returning to him and wrapping his hand around the weapon. It's lighter than his own: carved from a darker wood and decorated with runes and Celtic knots that tell of feats and victories he's never heard in her stories. He returns Keith's wolf to his pocket in order to wield the bow with both hands, drawing back the string and finding it requires an unexpected amount of force to accomplish.

 

He gapes over at his mother as he eases the tension and returns the bow to a resting state, unable to picture her using it at all. 

 

"This...was _yours?"_

 

"Oh, don't sound so surprised," she teases, but her humour is short-lived. Her eyes find their way back to his face, lingering on the scar so similar in shape to the coloured marks on Altean cheeks. "This bow kept me safe, and if you're set on making a choice that involves chasing after that _beast-_ "

 

"He's not a beast, Mum. I promise you, he's anything but."

 

"'He'?" she repeats with a frown. "Are you speaking of the direwolf? Surely that's not the choice you meant-"

 

"He is, yes."

 

_"Lance-"_

 

"I'll explain everything later, I swear to you," he hurries, trying not to hear the ticking of their metaphorical clock speeding up. "He's not what he seems."

 

_And if I succeed, I'll prove that statement true for all wolves._

 

She doesn't seem convinced, but chooses not to pursue the matter, which has Lance practically grinning.

 

"Just…" and she leans in for a hug, wrapping her arms tight around his chest in an embrace that he reciprocates eagerly - cheek pressing into the top of her hair as his heart sings triumphantly. She sighs when she steps back, patting his cheek with a sad smile. 

 

"Promise me you'll be careful, okay?" 

 

"I will-" 

 

"I mean it, Lance," she scolds abruptly. "You come back alive or I'll kill you myself, you hear me?" 

 

He tries not to laugh as he nods, heading toward the door and throwing it open. Coran jerks upward as he does - a blue flicker fading so quick Lance questions his own vision - but he doesn't pause to ask as he bolts down the hall. 

 

"Highness-?" he hears the man call after him, but his mother answers on his behalf.

 

"He's making a choice, Coran, just like I did. Just as _you_ did, though I still wish you'd reconsidered-"

 

"I've never once regretted my decision," the man announces proudly. "You saved my life, after all. Risked your own in the process."

 

"A habit I'm afraid runs in the family," Lance's mother adds with a smile. But it doesn't linger as she sighs heavily. "What is it with that boy and chasing after wolves?"

 

"Ah," Coran grunts knowingly, voice fading as Lance sprints towards the main hall - unaware of the conversation taking place in his stead - to where Keith escaped out into the night. "So _that's_ what my dear friend meant. Best to brace yourself then, my Queen."

 

"Why?" 

 

"Because," and the man smirks as a gleam passes over his eyes, the light from the sconces casting triangular shadows over his cheeks - like memories of markings that may once have been. "It appears the fates are about to change."

 

* * *

 

It takes Lance all of five minutes to race down to the stables, not bothering with a saddle as he mounts up on Kalte. It's too dark to track Keith by foot, and even if it weren't Lance knows his time is short.

 

 _I have to hurry,_ he thinks urgently as he grabs the reins and pulls, but instead of turn, Kalte rears up with a startled whinny, nearly tossing him off her back.

 

"Woah, hey-"

 

"Your Highness!" a voice calls out suddenly, and Lance curses both in surprise and impatience as he sees yet another distraction just waiting to unfold.

 

"I don't have _time_ for this Hunk!" he huffs, spinning to find the suitor from clan Garrett standing before Kalte with both arms raised. "I need to go-"

 

"I know!" Hunk interrupts, keeping his hands in the air as he gestures towards the woods with his head. "I know, so tell us how we can help."

 

_Help? Us?!_

 

But before Lance can puzzle it out, four more people emerge from the shadows, and he finds himself staring down at Pidge, Matthew, Adam, and Shiro. 

 

"What are you-" he tries to ask, but is cut off as Shiro steps forward.

 

"We owe you a debt, Lance," he says swiftly, taking Adam by the hand with a smile before nodding to each of the others. "All of us thank you for speaking up on our behalf. For being brave enough to challenge tradition. For-"

 

"Yes, you're welcome," Lance waves him away, nudging Kalte forward. "But I'm kinda in a hurry so if you don't mind, let's skip this part for now."

 

Shiro blushes as Adam stifles a laugh, but he's quick to recover.

 

"We'll help you."

 

"You don't even have horses-"

 

"Sure we do," Hunk announces abruptly before lifting two fingers to his mouth and whistling. A moment later three horses come trotting forward from the stables reserved for guest mounts, all sporting the yellow tartan of clan Garrett. 

 

Lance blinks as he watches them nuzzle into Hunk playfully, before swallowing whatever excuse he'd been next to utter in favour of a nod. 

 

"Right. Okay then," he hums as he mulls through a new plan. "Long story short, I need to find the direwolf you all saw this evening. His life is in danger and I have until sunrise to save him. And I can't exactly do that with all of your families trying to hunt him down. So it would be a _huge_ help if you can try to stop them, or lead them away from where Ke- uh...the _wolf_ may be. Okay?"

 

He expects some sort of commotion over that, but the group is astonishingly accepting. Shiro notices Lance's surprise and shoots him a wink.

 

"My aunt filled us in," he explains, jumping up on one of the horses before helping Adam do the same. Pidge and Matthew take another, leaving Hunk with the third. 

 

"So, you want us to interfere with our parent's hunt?" Pidge quips, holding tight to his brother's waist. "Consider it done."

 

"My father always said I was the best at warding off game," Adam adds with a grin. "It's time I put my skills to good use."

 

"We'll do our best to keep them distracted, Lance," Shiro nods encouragingly, and then leans forward with a hushed: "just bring Keith home."

 

Lance swallows thickly but can say nothing, concluding that Krolia had revealed far more to these people than he would have thought. But if she deemed them trustworthy then so could he.

 

"Alright then," he smiles as adrenaline courses through his veins, giving each of his new party a grateful nod before taking the lead. "I'm counting on you." 

 

He urges Kalte forward, who takes off like an arrow through the gates toward the part of the forest in which Keith had fled. 

 

"Which way should we go?" Hunk calls out from the back of the group. "They had a head start and we can't exactly track them in this darkness-"

 

"Don't track anything!" Lance shouts back, keeping his head low as Kalte maneuvers through the trees. "Don't think, just ride!"

 

"How-" Matthew starts, but is cut short by Pidge with a sarcastic: "Should be easy for you then, right Matt?"

 

"We have to let our hearts guide us, not our heads," Lance explains hastily, going so far as to close his eyes as he lets Kalte take them deeper into the woods. He has no idea where they're going, but he thinks that's a good thing. After all, that's kind of how this all started in the first place.

 

"Look, usually I love a good piece of poetic prose," Matt continues skeptically, dodging a low hanging branch as he urges his horse close to Lance, "but we're just going to get lost if we charge around the woods without a plan! Shouldn't we be trying to track down the wolf? Or the four dozen or so men and women who ran off after it?"

 

"Look, trust me, okay?" Lance asks without pleading. "You guys wanted to help, and this is the only way we can find them. The wisps will guide us once we get close enough-"

 

"Hold on, _wisps?!_ Since when are we following fairytale creatures?!"

 

"Cerridwen above," Pidge groans laboriously. _"That's_ what you question? Not the horse-sized _direwolf_ the prince brought back?"

 

"Hey, wolves are one thing. Floaty blue balls of spirit fire are another. Besides, I thought wisps were evil! Isn't that what all the stories say?"

 

"Maybe _yours_ do," Hunk defends, "but my mother used to tell me and my siblings they were lucky, and seeing one symbolized calm seas and bountiful harvest."

 

"Oh wow, yeah. That's a _way_ nicer thought than imminent death."

 

"I don't think I grew up with any stories specifically mentioning wisps," Adam chimes in, peeking his head around Shiro's bulky shoulders, "but we _did_ have a generic warning similar to what the prince said. 'The fae prey on those who stray, use your heart to guide the way'. Is that what you meant, Highness?"

 

"More or less," Lance affirms, turning his attention back to Kalte as she jumps a stream he doesn't ever recall crossing. 

 

 _I just hope I'm right,_ he thinks worriedly, banishing any desire for orientation lest that interfere with the magics he's relying on guiding them. _C'mon Allura…show me the way!_

 

"Ah, your warnings rhymed?" Shiro teases with a glance back at Adam, oblivious to Lance's doubts. "That's adorable."

 

"Yours didn't?"

 

"Nah. Us Northerners were brought up a bit harsher than you summer dwellers. It was all: 'don't trust anything in the woods that doesn't look like it belongs there'."

 

"Wow, that explains a lot," Adam grumbles as he rolls his eyes. "No wonder you were so _wary_ of me when we first met. Probably thought I was an Altean or something." 

 

"Altean, no," Shiro smirks. "But lost? Definitely. Poor helpless Southerner wandering the fjords...you're lucky I was there to save you when-"

 

"I saved _you,_ thank you very much!"

 

"Could you two quit the courting rituals and focus?" Pidge scolds as Hunk chuckles behind them. Lance is about to suggest they all seize talking to concentrate when a twinge in his chest causes him to glance over to his right. 

 

_Brighid be blessed!_

 

A single wisp hovers above the ground in the near distance - eerily quiet yet beckoning - and without batting an eye he steers Kalte toward it.

 

"Holy arse!" Matt guffaws as his horse staggers, seeing where Lance is aimed. "There's- you guys see that too, right?!"

 

"'Holy _arse'?!"_ Pidge mimics in horror. "What kind of childish curse is-"

 

"Just follow him!" Hunk interrupts, charging past the Gundersons to make good on his order. "We're with you, Lance! Don't stop!"

 

 _I wasn't planning on it,_ Lance thinks, but he feels himself smile nonetheless. It's reassuring having help. Comforting knowing there are some who not only believe him, but _support_ him. But more than anything he's smiling because the _wisps_ finally appeared, and he hastens Kalte's pace as a line of them flash into existence in a path of blue light. 

 

 _I'm coming Keith,_ he thinks with growing conviction - each flicker of frosted flame bringing him closer to his goal. _Just hang in there. I'm coming-_

 

A hideous howl shreds through the night: louder and more piercing than it had been in the safety of the castle, but the same petrified chill shudders through Lance's limbs as he pulls Kalte to a stop - everyone else following suit.

 

_No...not when I'm so close!_

 

"What was _that?!"_ Hunk whimpers, huddling into the mane of his horse as it spins in an antsy circle.

 

"That," Lance whispers in dread, feeling the blood drain from his face as the call ends and the echoes stain the air with tendrils of terror, "is the _real_ monster of the night."

 

He curses under his breath, having forgotten about the other direwolf roaming the woods. Well, not _forgotten_. That was impossible, really, but he'd definitely temporarily neglected to consider their main threat in all the chaos that had ensued after Keith fled the entrance hall.

 

 _Morrigan take me, what am I supposed to do about_ him?! 

 

Kalte paws the ground as her ears dart back and forth nervously - the other horses no better off as the others catch up. 

 

"That didn't sound good," Matt murmurs, eyeing the shadows around them suspiciously before glancing over at Lance. "And I'm guessing from your reaction that that _wasn't_ the wolf we're after?"

 

Lance can only shake his head numbly, too preoccupied with shoving away the flashbacks of red eyes and a frothing mouth full of daggered teeth to answer. 

 

 _Calm down,_ he orders himself, clenching his fists to stop their shaking. _Breathe. Mac Tíre still sounds far away. I just need to reach Keith first. I just have to find-_

 

His thoughts are interrupted by a crisp shout from somewhere on their left, over a ridge of trees and across a small clearing. Everyone holds their breath as their heads whip in that direction, and in the unsteady silence of restrained panting, the buzz of frenzied yelling can be heard growing closer. 

 

"Looks like we found them," Adam points out with a grunt, turning back to Lance expectedly. "What should we do?"

 

The question - coupled with the anxious expressions of the others - does wonders in forcing Lance to focus and forget his fear, or at least dampen it to some extent. He inhales once, nodding firmly as his brows lower in thought.

 

"That howl will draw them this way, which is unfortunately where I'm most likely to find _my_ direwolf as well."

 

"Why is that?" Hunk asks, and Lance sighs.

 

"It's a long story involving magic and twisted fates. But trust me, that howl is nothing but trouble for both humans _and_ wolves. Those men won't know that though, so you two-" and he points at Matt and Pidge, "-will circle around the far side of that thicket and try to intercept them. Your father will likely have the clearest head of the bunch and might listen if you try and explain the situation. I don't care what you tell him, but any type of stalling is appreciated. Even if that fails, he'll be less inclined to fight with his children present, and may try to advise my father to reconsider."

 

"Sounds easy enough," Pidge grins, poking Matt in the side. "You ready to cry on command if my lie falls through?" 

 

"You know it," Matt smirks, and Lance turns to Hunk.

 

"I need _you_ to make your way to the back of their group. Find the people on foot and make them see reason. This isn't a fight they are prepared for, and you, Hunk, will keep them safe by leading them back to the castle."

 

"By myself?" Hunk shivers, toying with the reins nervously. "I don't think I can do that-"

 

"You can," Lance assures, smiling gently when the boy hesitates. "You brought me back, remember? And I guarantee I'm _way_ more stubborn than anyone else you're likely to meet in this forest."

 

 _Well, save for Keith_ …

 

Hunk's mouth opens to argue, but he closes it a moment later with a weak nod.

 

"I'll try my best then."

 

"Good." Lance motions for Shiro and Adam next, seeing the orange glow of burning torches appear through the trees. "You two will be decoys. Take your horse and try to lead everyone away from here. Make as much noise as you can, but only howl if necessary. I don't want you attracting any unwanted attention."

 

"Like from that mean sounding bastard we just heard?" Adam grumbles, tightening his grip around Shiro's waist. "Yeah...I'm not keen on that either."

 

"We'll be fine," Shiro reassures him with a kiss to the forehead before addressing Lance. "Is there a rendezvous point we should meet you at?"

 

"If all goes according to plan, the castle is the best place to go," Lance states, but there's an uneasy pause that follows in which the others exchange worried looks. 

 

"And…" Pidge pipes up, voicing the unspoken thoughts of them all, "if it _doesn't_ go according to plan…?"

 

Lance bites the inside of his mouth, glancing over at the trail of wisps waiting to guide him forward. The honest answer to that question is uncertainty: he just _doesn't_ know what will happen should he fail.

 

What if the sun rises before he can find Keith? What if Mac Tíre gets to him first? What if the clansmen ignore the distractions and strike down what they most fear and hate?

 

There are too many unknowns to contend with, so Lance shuts them away for now. There's no use fretting over potential paths when the one he needs to follow is already - quite literally - illuminated. 

 

So he throws back his shoulders, lifts his chin high, and fills his lungs so his words are strong when spoken.

 

"Then we'll try something else."

 

It's not a rousing statement. It doesn't evoke confidence or stir the hearts of those who hear it. But it's the truth: simple and flimsy as it may seem, and Lance means it with his entire self. 

 

_I'll keep trying, Keith. Even if that sun rises and your eyes turn...I won't give up._

 

Everyone watches him for a moment longer, likely waiting for more, but when it becomes apparent that he'd said his piece, the tension breaks.

 

"Good enough for me!" Pidge grins, as does Matt, and the two bow their heads once before taking off towards the orange light in the distance. 

 

"You can count on us," Hunk states with an encouraging smile. "I'll meet you back at the castle."

 

He nudges his horse and takes off after the Gundersons, splitting from their path towards where the stragglers on foot are likely to be. 

 

Lance turns towards Shiro and Adam then, who both nod with smirks of their own.

 

"You ready to make some noise, darling?" Adam teases, tossing up the hood of his cloak. "I know how _vocal_ you can be-"

 

"You better hold on tight or I'll leave your scrawny arse for the badgers," Shiro warns with a cocky chuckle, glancing back at Lance and tossing him a wink. "Stay safe, okay? My cousin would _throttle_ me if he knew I was letting you go off on your own, especially if what Krolia said is true."

 

Lance isn't quite sure what to make of that last part, so he pretends not to hear it as he chuckles dryly.

 

"Then let's not tell him."

 

Shiro hums to himself for a moment, watching Lance until it's almost awkward. But then he beams and nods as if confirming something in the privacy of his thoughts.

 

"You're going to make a fantastic king one day, Lance. Keith really picked a good one."

 

Lance's cheeks ignite, but before he can make any sort of statement to either thank the man for his praise or wave off his embarrassment with some excuse, he and Adam turn and urge their horse to a run, heading away from the colours in the woods to dive into the shadows of deception. 

 

Lance watches them go only long enough to send up a quick prayer to whichever god will listen, and then motions for Kalte to continue after the wisps. His pulse grows stronger with each flash of blue that appears in front of him, knowing he's getting closer.

 

 _I'm coming,_ he promises as he lets his body melt into Kalte's. He can feel her legs pound against the ground, her breath fill her lungs and power her gallop. 

 

He can feel the wind as it dances around him - cold but not unkind. It's almost playful in comparison to the wind he felt when riding Keith. _That_ wind was fierce and fast. It was dangerous and free, letting him experience flying without a need for wings. 

 

He misses that wind. Wishes he had it with him now. 

 

 _I'm coming,_ he repeats, imagining Keith's motley fur held tight between his fingers rather than smooth leather. Hearing Keith's thoughts echo in his head rather than his own voice. Picturing Keith's amethyst eyes reflecting the stars, free of the shadows that Mac Tíre's howl cast.

 

_I'm going to save you Kogane. Just hang in there for a little while longer._

 

He keeps his gaze fixated on the wisps as Kalte continues her reckless pace. It's dangerous - the speed they're going at - particularly as the moonlight becomes heavily intercepted by branches that grow thicker the farther they go. But he doesn't dare slow. Even when the ground grows rugged and sloped. When the trees become thicker with less space between the trunks.

 

He wills Kalte not to trip or injure herself on his behalf, but strangely enough, her footing remains constant. It's almost like she's gliding above it all, gathering momentum as the wisps flicker and fade in quicker succession. His surroundings remain unrecognizable, but there's a humming in the air that he finds comforting: the smell of damp soil mixing with magic. 

 

It's a nice smell. Sweet but subtle, both calm and energetic. He waves it off as fond memories forged by the forest - the scent of lazy afternoons spent practicing with his bow. But it quickly grows beyond just that, and Lance realizes with hitched breath why he finds it so familiar. 

 

_It's him!_

 

"Keith!" he shouts, choking on the wind as he sits up beyond the shelter of Kalte's neck. "Keith! I'm here!"

 

He squints against the darkness, spotting an area up ahead where the moon shines down unfiltered by branches. He angles Kalte towards it, not noticing the wisps vanish as the smell he'd come to associate with Keith drives him onward.

 

Bark stripped from trees. Upturned earth beneath a mat of leaves. Smoke tangled in fur and-

 

…. _blood?_

 

Lance hears himself whimper as the pungent tang of injury soaks the breeze, recalling the wound Keith had sustained to his shoulder that had driven him from the entrance hall. 

 

_If only I'd been faster...he wouldn't have gotten hurt!_

 

The severity of the cut would have been far worse had his father been less distracted and limited in his movements, which is yet _another_ reason for Lance to fix Keith before the others catch up. The woods provide the perfect setting for a battle, and without the frenzy of screaming bystanders in the way, a sliced shoulder may be the least of Keith's concerns. 

 

Not that Lance would give them a chance to get close enough to strike, but still. His best bet is turning Keith back as soon as possible before anything can interfere. 

 

"Keith!" he calls out again - the gaps between the shadows growing larger as he nears the clearing. "Keith please-"

 

He almost bites through his tongue as Kalte comes to an abrupt halt once beyond the treeline, though somehow he manages to cling to her neck despite the alarming change in the state of motion.

 

_Why-?_

 

She whinnies lowly - warningly - with her ears pressed flat against the back of her head. But Lance hardly notices. His eyes are glued to the scene up ahead, feeling his lungs burn in jarring déja vu.

 

He knows this place. He's seen these stones! And when the mist begins to curl around the hooves of his horse he practically jumps from her back and races toward the center of the circle.

 

Because there, in the middle of the Witch's Crown, is a direwolf with fur of silver and gold, resembling a story as he stares up at the moon.

 

And Lance almost cries.

 

_"Keith!"_

 

He stumbles as he sprints up the hill, grinning until he sees the red droplets staining the ground. He slows as he enters the circle of stone - a thick silence descending as he passes the threshold and witnesses Keith up close.

 

And...it's not great.

 

A dark burgundy has spread out from the cut on his shoulder, trailing down his front leg and glistening ominously. But Keith shows no signs of favouring it as he keeps his head tilted up at the moon, meaning it might not hurt as badly as it looks like it should. Or maybe he's just too preoccupied to notice the pain as he ignores Lance and continues staring unblinkingly above. 

 

 _I have to bandage his shoulder,_ Lance gulps stiffly, cursing himself for not thinking to bring any herbs or medicines to help. He takes a hesitant step forward, lifting his attention to Keith's face.

 

"I'm here," he begins slowly, suppressing the quiver in his voice when his words evoke no response. "It's me. I've come back, just like I told you I would."

 

Keith's focus remains unchanged, and Lance holds his breath as he edges closer.

 

"Keith of clan Kogane," he announces, but not so loudly that the trees catch his echo. "You are the son of Lady Krolia, lordling of the Northern Spurs, friend to wolves and...and to _me-"_

 

He's standing directly in front of him, neck craning upwards as he reaches out a hand. 

 

"I know you're in there, Keith," he's whispering now, fingers shaking as they extend to their limit. And here he stays: keeping a small distance between flesh and fur to let his wolf do the rest. 

 

"You have to come back for me," Lance hushes pleadingly, "just as I came for you. C'mon, Keith. I still owe you that hug-"

 

A nose twitches, followed by two ears that dart forward in curiosity, and in one fluid motion Keith drops his attention from the moon down to Lance.

 

And it's terrifying. Keith is _huge_ \- his presence overwhelming as he looms over and blocks out the sky. Lance feels his mouth run dry, his body screaming for him to hide. But he doesn't. He keeps his hand extended, ignoring the voice in his head that's all his own as he stares into the darkened eyes of an animal.

 

But that's what Keith is right now. Wild. Untamed. Majestic, sure, but he's every bit the direwolf Lance turned him into. 

 

Which is _wrong!_ He still has time! The sun hasn't risen yet!

 

So why..?

 

"Give him back!" Lance orders abruptly, turning away from the wolf to face the bordering forest. If begging won't work he'll be more direct. Demanding. He's the prince of the Highlands, and they _will_ obey him! "I know you're listening! Give him back to me now or I'll- I'll..." he trails off, unsure how exactly to threaten an entire woods. One hand goes to his hip while the other points out at the shadows between the trunks, landing on the mist that twists back in response. He narrows his eyes, glaring at it until it begins to retreat. 

 

"I'll do _something_ , and you won't like it! So quit playing around!"

 

He's not sure who he's yelling at - be it Allura, or the wisps, or some other formidable power - but he's not about to give up and cry just yet. He still has time, and he's done wasting it. 

 

But when the trees remain silent with the mist hesitating by their roots, he storms over to one of the colossal stones covered in runes, trying a different tactic. 

 

"Hey! Listen up! That man-" and he points back at the direwolf watching him in shocked bewilderment, "-is going to help me right the wrongs of this kingdom! _'Change the fates'_ and whatnot. You want that, don't you?!" 

 

A breeze rings the Witch's Crown but doesn't penetrate the circle, and Lance grunts in frustration before drawing back and kicking the rock before him.

 

"Ah! _Iverson's arse!"_ he curses, falling forward as pain vibrates up his leg. But that only adds to his growing anger, and he briskly stands and lifts his face to the moon.

 

"He doesn't belong to you yet!" he shouts menacingly, reaching for his mother's bow and fitting it with an arrow. He draws back, one eye closed as he aims up at the bright white orb. It's foolish, he knows, but reason has little sway in the face of aggravation. "Give him back _now-"_

 

**_What are you doing?_ **

 

"I'm going to shoot the moon!"

 

There's a soft laugh, followed by: **_Why?_ **

 

"To get _you_ back, obvious-" and Lance pauses, registering the different voice in his head with delayed realization. But when it _does_ hit him, he spins, eyes wide as he stares back at the direwolf watching him in amusement - ears perked, grin crooked, and eyes bright purple.

 

_"Keith!"_

 

He drops his weapon and bolts directly at him, wrapping his arms tight around his neck when they collide and burying his face deep into warm fur. 

 

Keith laughs in surprise, but it's interrupted by a wince that has Lance drawing back in guilt.

 

"Ah, sorry! I forgot about your shoulder!" 

 

 **_I'm okay,_ ** Keith hums, though it doesn't hide the traces of ache in his voice. **_In fact, I feel great! If you hug me again I might even heal all the way-_ **

 

"Don't make light of this," Lance warns, feeling his smile fade. He steps back, wrapping his arms around himself as he drops his gaze to the ground. "You could have been killed…"

 

**_Lance, I'm-_ **

 

"And it was _my_ fault!" Lance cuts over him, lifting both hands to cup Keith's face. He stares into eyes coloured lilac by the moonlight, cherishing their hue over the black lingering in the corners. "I should have known better than to bring you in there, put you in that situation...I just thought I could make them _listen_ -"

 

 **_But they_ ** **did** **_listen!_ ** Keith presses forward - wet nose touching Lance's forehead gently. **_They heard you, Lance. And if it hadn't been for that howl they would have seen the truth as well._ **

 

"Right," Lance sighs, dropping his hands and frowning. "About that...we need some way to block him out."

 

 **_I'm sorry,_ ** Keith lowers his head, ears drooped in regret. **_I should have tried harder to resist him, I just-_ **

 

"It's not your fault," Lance interrupts, taking Keith's knife from his belt and slicing a few strips of material from his cloak. "And this time we'll be more prepared-"

 

"GET AWAY FROM MY SON!"

 

Both boys jump at the unexpected holler, jerking around to find the four clan leaders charging up the hill towards them. Their horses whinny in complaint at the mist circling their hooves, going so far as to rear up until their riders are forced to dismount. And then more people appear in the woods behind them, and Lance gasps as he sees the Gundersons, Adam, and Shiro all held captive and struggling. But Hunk is nowhere to be seen, and aside from the five or so soldiers holding his friends back, none of the other people who had stormed out after Keith are present.

 

 _At least one of them succeeded,_ he thinks, but finds the statement unjust. _No. They all helped, and I should have known that my father would handle them easily. It's my own fault for not coming up with a better strategy._

 

"Morrigan take me," he still swears under his breath, catching Shiro's eye.

 

"They caught us!" the man yells, managing to get his good arm free. "I'm sorry, Lance-"

 

He's silenced via a punch to the gut - an action that has Keith snarling dangerously behind Lance. 

 

 **_Shiro!_ ** he shouts, digging his claws into the ground. **_What is he doing here?! Why are they tied up! Lance-?_ **

 

But rather than answer, Lance turns to his father, who hovers just outside of the stone circle as Lord Gunderson, Lord MacDonal, and Chief Garrett rush to his side. They all hesitate as they eye the ancient obelisks, reaching quivering hands to draw their weapons.

 

"What manner of place is this?" Lord MacDonal hisses, shrinking away from the stones in distaste. "To think the boy knows it's location...no doubt he's been consorting with _demons_ and _Alteans_ and-"

 

"Silence, you coward," Chief Garrett grunts - one hand hovering over a hatchet on his belt. "Or return to the castle and be of use there."

 

Lord MacDonal opens his mouth to retort, but shuts it as Lance's father recovers, stepping into the Witch's Crown with his sword pointed directly at Keith. 

 

"It's time you die, _monster-"_ he cuts off as Lance steps between them, blocking the direwolf as best he can with his arms spread outward. His father blinks, taken aback, and then lifts one hand to beckon him forward. "Lance, come over here where it's safe. We'll throw a dagger as a distraction and you run-"

 

"I'm tired of running!" Lance shouts over him, holding his ground in defiance. He feels Keith's hot breath on his neck, wishing he hadn't dropped his bow. It's laying on the far side of the circle, an arrow still notched and ready. 

 

"Step aside-"

 

"I _won't!"_ And he slips the turquoise bracelet from off his wrist, holding it tight in his palm as he steps forward. "You need to hear for yourself, Dad. He isn't what he seems."

 

His father eyes him skeptically - gaze drifting from him to the direwolf and back - but with a heavy sigh, he mimics his son and steps closer. 

 

Lance feels his pulse quicken, keeping his hand extended as Keith growls lowly.

 

**_Be careful, Lance...I don't want you to get hurt._ **

 

 _It's not me I'm worried about,_ Lance wants to answer, but he keeps his attention on his father as the gap between then diminishes. And then all at once, he's there, right in front of him, and he holds out his own hand palm up.

 

 _This is it,_ Lance breathes deeply, glancing back at Keith with a nod. _Get ready-_

 

 **_Lance look ou-_ **but Keith's warning is abruptly silenced as Lance feels his arm roughly pulled forward, knocking him off balance as he trips into his father's grip. The stones slip from his fingers, landing on the ground before Lance can snatch them up.

 

"No! Stop!" he cries, shoving against his father as he tries to retrieve their only hope of understanding. But his father holds tight, rushing back to his allies before tossing Lance over to Lord MacDonal, who seizes him enthusiastically.

 

"Hold him!" his father orders briskly, returning his focus to Keith now that Lance is out of the way. "Don't let him escape!"

 

 _"Dad!"_ Lance cries, feeling the grip on his arms tighten. "Please! Just touch the stones! I promise- _NO!"_

 

He shrieks as Lord Gunderson hurls a spear at Keith, who ducks just in time to avoid being impaled. It soars over his back, which would otherwise be a good thing were it not for the rope attached to the head. Once stuck in the ground, Chief Garrett grabs the end of it and pulls tight, forcing Keith to kneel as the rope digs into his injured shoulder. 

 

"That's it!" his father bellows, edging closer despite Keith's furious snarling. "Throw another! I'll have its head mounted above the throne as a symbol of our strength!"

 

"STOP IT!" Lance begs, throat tearing with the effort, but no one pays him any mind save for Lord MacDonal, who snickers sinisterly in his ear and hoists his arms back in a painful position. 

 

"Silence, you spoiled brat. It's time you learned how _real_ men hunt."

 

Another spear is thrown and rope secured, tangling around Keith's back leg and pulling it out at an odd angle, which prevents him from putting weight on it as he struggles to escape. 

 

He's panting now, the whites of his eyes visible as he fights against the restraints, and Lance tries not to focus on the amount of red staining the rope that chafes against his injury. 

 

 _"You're_ _hurting him!"_ he screams, tears spilling over his cheeks as the muscles in his arms pull and threaten to snap. Lord MacDonal only laughs, drowning out his calls.

 

"Finish it off, Angus!" he cheers grotesquely, and Lance can only watch as his father moves to obey, sword raised and ready as he stands before Keith. 

 

"Begone, _devil-"_

 

Something whirls past him, cutting him off as it slices through the rope Chief Garrett holds. And it's a moment of combined shock as everyone gapes down at a dagger sticking in the ground - hilt wrapped in red tartan. 

 

"What in the-" Lord Gunderson begins, but he sputters and yelps as another dagger is thrown from somewhere in the woods, and then Lady Krolia emerges from the shadows of the trees, hands cupped around her mouth as she yells: _"go!"_

 

Keith does as told, using the distraction to his advantage and breaking free. Everyone steps back in fear - Krolia darting over to where the others are being held as Keith stands to his full height and growls. 

 

"Go, Keith _run!"_ Lance urges, but Keith shakes his head, gaze an intense purple as it finds its way to him. And Lance knows - stubborn and foolish and uselessly brave as it is - that Keith is tired of running as well. Even without the turquoise stones, Lance can hear him saying as much, likely adding something sappy and charming as a method to convince him.

 

But Lance can't watch him die, and if Keith lingers in the state he's in, fewer outcomes remain. 

 

"They'll kill you!" he shouts, seeing his father steady himself and brace to attack. Chief Garrett does the same as Lord Gunderson readies more rope, but still, Keith keeps his eyes on Lance. "You need to run! Save yourself! I'll find you again, I-"

 

"Shut it!" Lord MacDonal grunts, twisting Lance's arm until he cries out in pain. But that was the wrong thing to do with Keith free, and the man quickly realizes his mistake when the giant wolf comes sprinting his way. 

 

"KILL IT!" he panics, cowering behind Lance without letting go. Lance's father reacts by jumping in the way, forcing Keith to stop lest he plow him over. Because even in his anger - even in his rage at seeing Lance in trouble - he wouldn't stoop so low as to hurt anyone in this form. 

 

The fight wouldn't be fair, and Lance knows Keith would never forgive himself if he lost control for even a moment. So he stops, and tries to maneuver passed the King, but Lance's father doesn't let him. He keeps up with his movements, shifting back and forth with his sword ready to prevent Keith from reaching his goal.

 

"Gregor!" he yells, gesturing with his head. "Circle behind it and aim for the heels. Keep it from running away!"

 

"Keith I'll be alright, just _go!"_ Lance tries again as Chief Garrett does as told, but a meaty hand comes up to cover his mouth.

 

"Samuel," his father goes on, ignorant to the way Lord MacDonal is handling his son, "try to rope its muzzle so it can't bite! I'll give you an opening-"

 

 _"MMMPH!"_ Lance pushes against his captor, watching them all close in on Keith, unable to even cry out as they attack, but then the wind shifts. And he feels it before he sees it: the wisp that appears at the far side of the clearing. It flashes once before vanishing, and Lance knows what it warns before the first note even begins. 

 

 _Not again!_ he pleads, seeing the way Keith's nose twitches as he picks up the scent. His eyes widen, ears flattening as his hackles rise in reaction to the call he knows is looming. But Lance won't lose him again. Not this time. Not like this.

 

So he bites down hard on Lord MacDonal's palm, hearing the man curse as he draws back in disgust.

 

"How _dare-"_ but he doesn't finish his threat as Lance rears his head back and smashes the man in the face, pushing free from his grip as Lord MacDonal stumbles backward clutching his nose. 

 

"You little _shit!"_ he begins as Lance sprints away, gathering the attention of the others. But before any of them can grab him, the howling starts. 

 

Everyone freezes save for Lance, who races towards Keith - who races towards _him -_ and before the howl can reach its peak he throws himself forward and grabs Keith's ears, pressing them down tightly as he wraps his body protectively around his head.

 

"I'm here!" he shouts over the sound, feeling it rip into his skin with how close it is, wanting nothing more than to copy the others and cover his own ears to defend against the volume it carries. But he holds onto Keith and keeps shouting, wishing he had his bracelet so he could hear for himself if it was working. If Keith was still with him...still _Keith._

 

"Drown it out!" he orders, heart racing as he curls himself tighter around his wolf, cloak covering his face protectively as the howl begins to arc. "You have to stay with me! Fight against him! Don't lose yourself to his call!" 

 

The howl breaks off without an echo, as if the valley itself is too afraid to repeat such a hostile cry. Lance waits for a brief moment before lifting himself from Keith's head, almost laughing in relief when he finds violet eyes staring back. 

 

"You did it!" he coughs on withheld emotion, lifting Keith's face so he can rest their foreheads together. "Brighid be blessed, you're still here!"

 

He hears a low whine, and then a long, pink tongue slobbers up the side of his cheek, and it doesn't take much imagination to guess what is being said. 

 

But Lance shoves away his fluster and stands, motioning for Keith to do the same. Everyone is staring at the place the howl came from, and with their attention divided, he and Keith might just have a chance to escape.

 

"C'mon," he whispers, tugging at Keith's good leg. "We need to go-"

 

A growl ripples out into the night, vibrating the air and shaking the towering stones around them. The night falls silent in response, no one daring to breathe as a great shadow begins to move in the space the wisp had been. It grows and swallows up the trees, casting a darkness so thick the moon cowers behind a sheet of clouds in fear. Red eyes open and narrow, darker than the blood that drips from Keith's shoulder, and a deadly grin of jagged ice flashes as another bone-chilling growl shakes the ground on which they stand.

 

"What in the devil's name is _that?!"_ Lord MacDonal whimpers, hands lifted above his head as if to ward off the ominous energy emitting from the living void. "What manner of beast have you brought-"

 

"Shh," Lance's father orders, knuckles white from where he grips his sword. "Lance," he speaks again, not turning his attention away from the nightmare wolf that was Zar of clan Kon, thirsty for vengeance and famished after his long slumber, "get back to the castle at once-"

 

"You can't fight him!" Lance exclaims, reaching out as his father sinks low, ready to charge. "Dad, he'll _kill_ you! Everyone needs to get out of here now! Keith and I will draw him off-"

 

"You'll do no such thing!" 

 

"It's the only _way!_ Only Keith is fast enough to outrun him! And I-" he breaks off as Keith walks forward suddenly, nudging Lance back before stepping in front of his father. Both McClains stare at him with various levels of shock as the direwolf sinks low to the ground and growls back - sending shivers of dread down Lance's spine. 

 

_No...no what is he doing?!_

 

He runs after him, shoving passed his father who only blinks in befuddlement. Or maybe it's denial? There's an assortment of emotions crossing his face as he watches Keith move to defend them all, made even worse when own his son tries to do the same.

 

"Go, Dad," Lance says as he draws Keith's knife, facing the darkness he remembers from the nightmare. "Take the others to safety-" 

 

He's cut off as Keith gently nudges into his side, pushing him back so he's next to his father. And Lance blinks as he gapes up at him, reading the thoughts that he can no longer hear.

 

"No way," he argues, shaking his head as he tries to move forward again. "You're not doing this alone! I'm helping you! I'm _staying!"_

 

A huff, followed by a soft lick to Lance's cheek before Keith pushes him back again. This time his father takes the hint and grabs hold of his arm, nodding slowly as he gapes up at the direwolf he'd been set on killing mere moments before. 

 

"Wha- Dad, let me go!" Lance pulls, but it's useless. Keith nods in response, giving Lance one final knowing look - a wordless goodbye - before facing Mac Tíre. 

 

"Keith _don't!"_ Lance orders, but his father drags him away, motioning for the others to retreat as both direwolves crouch low and gauge the situation. The air is thick with tension - sparking with clashing intentions to protect and destroy. Mac Tíre flashes his teeth again, lips curling and snout wrinkled as he waits for Keith to submit. 

 

It's likely the first time he's encountered resistance from another wolf - given the power his howl seemingly possesses - and _definitely_ the first time he's been challenged. But even with Keith's strength and size, he's _nothing_ compared to the goliath he faces, and Mac Tíre must come to the same conclusion as he sinks low and digs his claws into the ground. 

 

"No, Dad- we can't _leave him!"_ Lance pushes uselessly, watching the demon wolf come to a conclusion. If he can't control his opposition, he'll kill him instead, and though Keith is nimble enough to outrun the black direwolf, Lance knows the boy would never abandon them in the name of self-preservation. And with his hurt shoulder, he likely wouldn't make it very far anyway. 

 

No. There's only one thought going through Keith's head at this moment, and nothing Lance can say will change his mind. 

 

_But that doesn't mean he needs to fight by himself!_

 

"He- I can help! I've escaped him before so _please!"_ But his father isn't listening, fixated as he is on the scene unfolding before his eyes. It's a legend in the making, and Lance fears he knows how it will end if they leave Keith alone. "I need to save him! I can't let him do this! He'll die-"

 

And Mac Tíre charges. 

 

"KEITH!" Lance screeches as the black monstrosity leaps forward, ignoring gravity as he soars effortlessly between two of the pillars that constitute the Witch's Crown. He hears the people behind him gasp and scramble away, and his father's fingers tighten as he pulls Lance to do the same. 

 

Keith tries to dodge as Mac Tíre thrashes out at him, but with his shoulder already wounded his movements are hazy and slow, and he yelps as claws dig into his leg. 

 

"LET ME GO!" Lance shouts desperately, watching Keith roll away just in time to escape the demon wolf's teeth. But struggling is futile, so he spins to face his father in frustration. "Why are you running! When has the King of the Highlands ever turned tail from an enemy!"

 

"This is not an enemy we are prepared for-"

 

"So you'd rather let an innocent life be _killed_ to save your own?! You _saw_ him, Dad! He's protecting us against the _real_ danger! We need to help him-"

 

"I'll not risk your life, or the lives of anyone else here, for the sake of some... _creature_ you've managed to tame! I'm not sure how or _why_ it's acting this way, but I can only assume it's because of some territorial instinct over its prey-"

 

There's a sickening thud that interrupts their argument, followed by a weak whine that has Lance jerking back to find Keith on the ground by one of the massive stones. It's wobbling unsteadily from an impact he'd been too distracted to witness, and Keith can barely lift his head as Mac Tíre snarls triumphantly and closes in.

 

And something in Lance snaps. 

 

 _Sorry Dad,_ and he drops, letting his weight pull him down and out of his father's arms before rolling away, unclasping his cloak as he does to make himself more nimble. 

 

His father calls out to him - voice furious and horrified - but Lance doesn't hear it. Every one of his senses is focused on Keith, and he darts around the edge of the stone circle until he's parallel to the nightmare about to devour his dream. 

 

 _"Stay away from him!"_ he hollers, bending to pick up a rock and hurling it at Mac Tíre's head. It hits with a satisfying crack, and for a single second of time the world stops.

 

And then red eyes flash his way, narrowing in absolute loathing as the ancient direwolf smells the air and growls. 

 

 _Brighid help me,_ Lance thinks a moment too late, jumping out of the way as the beast lurches towards him. Keith whimpers and manages to stand, finding his footing on shaky legs. 

 

"Get to saf-" Lance tries, but he's forced to swallow the rest of his sentence in order not to die. Mac Tíre demands his full attention, and Lance can only run so fast.

 

 _I really need to start thinking through these plans,_ some part of him grumbles as hot breath burns the back of his neck. He can hear shouting from the other end of the circle, and the whizz of spears being hurled to try and hit the beast at his heels. Mac Tíre slows to dodge them, snarling in rage when a dagger skims the top of his head. More rocks are thrown as well, but Lance doesn't see by whom as he angles towards his bow, knowing Keith's knife won't be enough to save him from jaws that powerful. 

 

"LANCE!" his father bellows, chasing after him, but his sudden movement catches Mac Tíre's attention, who turns away from the meagre distractions to resume his initial hunt. Lance's father turns to face him, brandishing his sword and holding his ground. "BACK AWAY YOU-"

 

He's swatted effortlessly away by an impossibly large paw - as one would shoo a fly hovering over a meal - and Lance can't even voice his horror as his father is sent flying across the circle. 

 

"DAD!"

 

Mac Tíre slows and watches the man land with a grunt, tilting his head and edging closer with a trail of drool slipping from his mouth. It's all a game to him - some mild entertainment before the meal - and Lance alters his trajectory to race to his father's defence and prevent him from becoming the appetizer of an inevitable feast. 

 

"Leave him!" he shouts, but Keith gets there first, having managed to steady himself in the brief reprieve and crashing into Mac Tíre's side, sending the two of them tumbling into the adjacent stone with another thunderous clap.

 

 _No!_ Lance skids to a stop, watching Keith rise up and immediately sink his teeth into the nape of Mac Tíre's neck. An ungodly snarl follows: black legs clawing at Keith's underbelly relentlessly, but the boy doesn't let go. He keeps his hold and sinks lower, driving the black direwolf into the ground and twisting.

 

 _He's doing it!_ Lance thinks in amazement, frozen in place and too afraid to blink. _He's really doing it-_

 

But then the tides turn, and there's a piercing cry as Mac Tíre manages to get his claws hooked in Keith's injured shoulder, digging in savagely until the smaller wolf is forced to let go. And without missing a beat, Mac Tíre pushes him off with a force that shouldn't be possible, sending Keith sailing away from the edge of the stone circle where his father sits up and clutches his side. 

 

_No, Dad! Stay down!_

 

But the demon wolf has no more interest in the man - at least not for now - watching with nauseating pride as Keith lands and rolls with several gruesome sounding cracks before coming to a rest several feet from where Lance stares in anguish. 

 

_Get up…please, Keith! Get up!_

 

But he doesn't. He's barely even _moving_ \- red staining his undercoat and spreading out in a slow puddle beneath him. 

 

_No no no no-!_

 

A ringing fills Lance's ears as Mac Tíre shakes himself and stands, glaring holes into Keith's limp form at the center of the Witch's Crown. And when he sees his opponent remain stationary on the ground he _sneers._

 

Frothing lips pull back to reveal a smile of knives as red eyes narrow, and Lance is grateful he doesn't have access to whatever sinister thoughts match the expression of sheer _evil_ that birthed the stories of this monstrous demon wolf so many ages ago. 

 

But strangely enough, it's no longer fear Lance feels as he stares numbly out at the scene. He's not scared as his fists clench and his brows lower, or hesitant as he watches the darkness spread out in menacing shades of despair from where Mac Tíre approaches. He stares at Keith and the quiver in his arms stills, replaced by a strength he didn't know was waiting. 

 

And when he turns to the direwolf stalking ever-closer - a trail of red dripping off black fur - Lance feels a wave of unadulterated courage rush through every fiber of his being. 

 

He'll not watch Mac Tíre hurt anyone else. Too much blood has already been spilled. Too much damage already inflicted. And Lance is done watching those he cares about suffer on his behalf. 

 

 _Enough of this,_ a voice sighs resolutely in his head. _No more._

 

Determination is the sole thought driving him now, because this _isn't_ how his story ends. This _isn't_ the path he's destined for: watching his future die before it's even begun. And if this journey has taught him anything, it's that fate is a fickle thing that can be changed in a mere second. 

 

All it takes is a choice, and Lance knows which one he has to make.

 

Mac Tíre takes a step closer to Keith, intent now on ending the only thing standing in the way of total domination, and Lance starts running.

 

Not away from the battle, nor towards his allies. He doesn't head for his father, who calls out from his position on the ground, or to Keith, who remains unmoving in terrible silence.

 

No. 

 

Instead, he runs to his mother's bow, bestowed with a promise to come back alive, and Lance intends to keep his word, extending it out to encompass the others. 

 

_I won't let them die!_

 

The wind is at his back, urging him forward as he slides down on his knees and retrieves the weapon from where he'd dropped it earlier, arrow ready and string taut as he pulls back and aims.

 

It's a split second. A fraction of a moment that people still question when they talk about what happened that night.

 

But to Lance, it's the longest breath he's ever taken. 

 

Mac Tíre is charging, closing in on Keith with eyes wide and jaw splitting down the middle. He's a shadow in the night, a flash in the corner of the eye that one hopes was imagined. He moves fluidly despite his size: a mountain given wings, death in living form. And as he descends the world turns black - like the eyes of a direwolf under his control - swallowing the life of everything trapped in his gaze.

 

Lance's fingertips burn where they dig into the bowstring, shoulders straining from the effort of pulling back further than he's used to. But he only has one shot, and it needs to be enough to finish things once and for all. 

 

He's acting completely on instinct - relying on years of practice to guide his arrow true. He can't hear anything but the pounding of his heart in his ears. His focus narrows to a deadly point, seeing nothing but an opening as Mac Tíre lunges.

 

And right before it happens, there's a flash of white in his periphery - a soft whisper on the breeze that makes a request on her behalf.  

 

But he can't fulfill it. Not _all_ of it anyway.

 

His eyes close, a single thought passing through his mind. 

 

_I'm sorry I couldn't save him._

 

And he lets go.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Death is a funny thing.

 

It can be loud and boisterous. A battle waged with screams and yelling. A heavy sob that rips through the night. A dramatic end as one embraces their fate.

 

But it can also be quiet. A final breath on a bed of feathers. A dreamless sleep that never ends. An arrow hissing softly through the air, landing soundlessly in the chest of a sentient nightmare. 

 

The bowstring hums as it comes to rest - Lance's fingers drawn back by his ear and tingling with remnant vibrations of released tension.

 

But he doesn't move. Even as Mac Tíre pauses his extension forward, legs coming to an unsteady halt to gape down at blue fletching bright against black fur. 

 

Red eyes blink once as the direwolf stumbles back with tardy movements, ears forward and tail extended. And when he lifts his gaze to Lance it's _almost_ human. Pupils widen. Scowling eases. Teeth are tucked away.

 

He's surprised. Maybe even a bit impressed.

 

And though it's impossible to say for sure, Lance could _swear_ he sees Mac Tíre nod once before he crumbles, done in by a single, willful arrow. 

 

Again, it only takes a second, but a thousand years pass in the time it takes for the demon wolf to fall. And a thousand more after that for anyone to accept it as real. 

 

But time is a fleeting concept, and anyone cognizant enough to count would have barely reached a minute from the fall of the first direwolf to that of the last. 

 

Rather anticlimactic, really. But most nightmares are, in the end. 

 

Lance exhales his held breath, feeling his shoulders sag forward as the strength he'd mustered drains out of him. But it's the wind who moves first. 

 

Trees bow and sway as it transitions to gusting, narrowing in on the Witch's Crown. Those outside of the stones brace themselves against it as torches extinguish and horses dart for the safety of the forest, but it's not a long-lasting event. 

 

The wind quickly dissipates as the mist returns, sneaking up the hill towards them like the roaming hands of a blind man. It curls around the base of each pillar, swirls playfully between the legs of those still standing. And then it collectively targets the direwolves at the center of the circle, growing thicker as it concentrates in one location. 

 

And Lance is moving again, struggling to his feet and holding tight to his bow. He kneels beside Keith when he reaches him, leaning over his chest protectively and swatting away any tendrils that get too close. 

 

He doesn't trust this mist, and he's not about to let it take Keith somewhere he can't follow.

 

It appears to respect his decision after several attempts and backs off, moving towards the body of Mac Tíre and enveloping him in a white blanket of thick fog. 

 

Someone gasps, or maybe multiple people do. Because as the mist settles a soft blue glow begins to emerge from beneath it, resembling veins as it pulses with growing intensity in thin lines of colour. Lance leans further over Keith, body tense as the atmosphere crackles and buzzes with magical energy: blue growing brighter all the while. 

 

A soft hum fills the air - a song in a language he doesn't know - and the lines beneath the mist move in rhythm to it, drumming along to the mystical beat until all at once they vanish.

 

Lance blinks, and in the time it takes him to do so, a wisp appears. 

 

It hovers above the body of the fallen legend - peacefully singing the same tune as the breeze - and then it bows. 

 

Just once. 

 

But as it does the night explodes. 

 

Lance falls back in alarm, keeping a protective arm around Keith as he squints against the sudden light emanating from the mist-covered form of the black direwolf. 

 

He expects heat as white flames spring from the place his arrow had struck, but the air only carries a gentle warmth as blue streaks dance their way into the night. 

 

 _What is this?_ Lance thinks in stunned awe, relaxing slightly when nothing moves to attack. But as he watches he begins to see the shapes the lights take - recognizable now that his panic has subsided.

 

They're all wisps, but rather than the standard ball of blue flame Lance had always known them to be, these ones have faces. These ones have bodies and arms and smiles that carry laughter as they fly up towards the moon and fade away into stardust. 

 

They're _people_. Likely ones who were killed by Zar of Kon during his descent into madness. 

 

But they're not the only ones who were harmed in that process, and Lance swallows thickly as he begins to see countless wolves break free in wisp form.

 

They run in packs away from the circle, up towards the moon until they vanish in its light. Hundreds of them are released, ranging from young pups to numerous direwolves the size of Keith and larger. 

 

They join the people as they race away from the Witch's Crown, away from the mist and the body it hides. And it goes on like that for a distressingly long time. 

 

So many lives lost. So many innocents killed. So many souls who sing their stories, like bells chiming in the distance. 

 

 _But they're free now_ , Lance tries to assure himself as tears come unbidden to his eyes. _They can finally rest._

 

No one speaks as the wisps rejoice - the night stained a brilliant blue as light after light shoots up to the heavens. It reminds Lance of ink mixed in water: swirling patterns of various hues merging with the black night, an aurora stemming from the arrow he'd shot. 

 

And it's beautiful, if bittersweet. But it's death and rebirth taking place all at once, end and beginning meeting in the middle. It's light against darkness, but there's no more conflict in their exchange, just a recognition of power and balance.

 

Lance watches until his eyes burn from not blinking. He watches until the last wisps leave and their song fades away. And he watches as a final shape rises up: the form of a man with a kind smile, eyes bright and features charming.

 

A heavy broadsword rests against his back, half-covered by a cloak made of furs and lined with the tartan of a family forgotten by history. 

On his chest is a brooch of white stone, carved with the face of a wolf with amber for eyes, which he reaches up and touches fondly whilst sighing contentedly. 

 

His arms are scarred and corded with muscle, but his movements are delicate and fluid - a man capable of both ripping a tree in a half and holding a sleeping infant for hours - a gentle giant with a heart unbroken. 

 

 _So this is Zar of clan Kon_ , Lance concludes, eyes watering. _I can see why he was once loved by many..._

 

The man nods down at him as a woman appears at his side, taking his arm in her own with a small child tucked in the other. And though Lance has never seen her in human form, he knows it's Honerva who beams down at him gratefully. Who rests her head against her husband's shoulder as she mouths a silent 'thank you'.

 

And it's then Lance realizes that _this_ is what she meant by her request. Not to _save_ the direwolf her beloved had become, but rather the man who'd been trapped inside, lost in his rage for hundreds of years. 

 

Lance feels himself smile weakly back at her, the joy of their reunion coupling with the relief of Mac Tíre's end, and the three spirits bow down as their light grows brighter - rivalling the moon until it's too much to bear. 

 

Lance covers his eyes with his arm, turning away as the world flashes and then stills. When he lifts his head again he finds the mist gone - with it the body of the demon wolf - and his arrow laying pristine on the ground. 

 

It's as if nothing happened, but Lance can tell by the startled faces of the others that he hadn't imagined it. They'd witnessed the truth for themselves, heard the songs of the wisps and seen the shapes they had taken. 

 

 _At least now they'll believe me,_ he huffs, watching the shadows retreat to the forest as the sky lightens, coloured orange and pink as dawn makes its appearance. And with a panicked jolt, Lance is slapped back to reality. 

 

_"Keith!"_

 

He sits back, shuffling over so he's facing the remaining direwolf. 

 

"Keith, he's gone, we did it-" Lance breaks off, noticing the closed eyes and laboured breathing. It's difficult to tell how damaged he is with the coat of fur hiding most of the injuries, but Lance knows it isn't good.

 

"Hey...hey, stay with me now, okay?"

 

His fingers are trembling as he runs a hand across Keith's cheek, pausing when they reach the deep gash in his right shoulder. Lance feels his breath hitch, and then unfastens the tartan he still wears as a sash across his torso. 

 

 _Mum would kill me if she knew what I was doing with this..._ he grunts, letting it unravel into a large square of thick fabric before folding it diagonally to maximize its reach. _But it's all I have..._

 

He leans forward and gently wraps it around Keith as best as he can, making sure to limit any unnecessary movement lest he aggravates any wounds.

 

"I'm just going to lift your head for a second, okay?" he soothes, dread heavy in his gut when he gets no response. But he needs to stop the bleeding, so with a grunt he carefully tucks an arm under Keith's neck and raises just enough to get one side of the makeshift bandage underneath. He hears a low whine protesting the motion and shimmies forward so Keith's head can rest in his lap, and then pulls tight to tie off the ends. 

 

It's by no means decent, and already crimson stains appear where blue tartan covers the gash. 

 

"We need help!" he calls out, lifting his gaze to the people gathered opposite of them. His eyes land on his father - clutching his side and supported by Chief Garrett. "Please, he's badly wounded-"

 

"Lance," his father sighs, expression grim. "I'm not sure there's anything-"

 

"There is!" Lance cuts him off seethingly, eyes wide and desperate as he turns to the Gunderson boys. "There has to be an herb or _something_ that can be of use...right?"

 

They exchange a doubtful look, but Pidge steps forward regardless. 

 

"We'll see what we can find," he says, grabbing Matt and running down the hill. Adam follows after them, shooting Shiro a knowing look.

 

"I'll go get a doctor," he states as he goes. "Or a medicine woman or...maybe an Altean? Do those exist now? Nevermind. I'll be quick."

 

Lance watches them and nods, the reassurance temporary as he turns back to Keith. He feels his pulse racing, anxiety ripe on his tongue. Because he doesn't _get it!_

 

They did as asked! Fulfilled the fine print of Allura's spell: _learn to see past battles old, hearts to change once truths be told…_

 

Didn't they _do_ that? There's no way his father won't believe him after what he'd experienced - what he'd seen within the Witch's Crown! They all know the truth of what really happened with Zar of Kon, what he became...what he _did!_ They know about the lives lost, both human and not, and how quick they were to misjudge those they didn't understand. 

 

And sure, there are still _books_ worth of information Lance needs to explain, but isn't _this_ good enough? Shouldn't this count as a start? The first chapter of a history rewritten?

 

_So why hasn't he changed back!_

 

Lance can feel his jaw begin to ache - the threat of tears blurring his vision as he searches around them for _something_ to help.

 

"Please, Keith, you can't do this to me," he urges as he scans the ground, spotting the turquoise stones lying a few feet away. He reaches for them, but they're too far, and with Keith's head in his lap, Lance can't extend the rest of the way to retrieve them. 

 

That doesn't stop him from trying though, and he sprawls out on his side whilst keeping his legs as still as possible so as not to disturb their charge.

 

 _C'mon, c'mon…!_ he grunts, fingers straining. And then a hand appears out of nowhere, picking them up and handing them over. 

 

"Please," Lady Krolia whispers - brows tilted upward as she curls her hand around his own, "bring him back."

 

Lance can't answer her, settling with a feeble nod as he heaves himself back upward towards Keith. He clenches the bracelet until his palm stings, using his other hand to gently trail along a soft cheek. 

 

"Talk to me," he orders, though it sounds more pleading than demanding - Lady Krolia moving back towards Shiro to give them space. "I'm listening now, so, please...Keith-"

 

 **_Hey,_ ** the voice is weak as it echoes into Lance's mind, raspy and sweet like honey on toast, **_how do I look?_ **

 

And Lance is so relieved to hear him - so shocked by the casually asked question - that he actually _laughs_ , feeling hot tears slide down his face as he does.

 

_He's here! Brighid be blessed, he's still here!_

 

"That's my line," he answers softly after a wave of relief, stroking his fingers into blissfully warm fur. 

 

 **_I know,_ ** Keith chuckles feebly, gemstone eyes opening to stare up at him. **_I just wanted you to smile. I don't like seeing you so sad._ **

 

"I'm _not,"_ Lance grunts defensively, face flushing as he angrily wipes away his tears. 

 

**_Then why are you crying?_ **

 

 _Because you stubborn northerner,_ Lance scoffs internally. _Look at the state of you!_

 

"You're just heavy, that's all."

 

He expects another chuckle at that, maybe even a smile, but Keith sighs with difficulty, nuzzling closer to Lance's body with more effort than should be needed. 

 

 **_I_ ** **feel** **_heavy,_ ** he admits shakily, ears darting back with a wince as he tries to move his leg. **_Like my body is turning to stone-_ **

 

"Don't say things like that!" Lance interrupts hastily, glancing down the length of him to verify his words are just metaphor. But even if they are, the fact remains that Keith is quickly fading, and the tops of the ancient pillars surrounding them are starting to catch the first rays of light. 

 

Time is almost up, and Keith is still a direwolf.

 

_But why?! What did we miss? What more can be done?! How can I save him-_

 

 **_I can hear you overthinking,_ ** he's teased fondly, Keith's voice pulling him back from the brink. **_Don't worry about me. I kinda like being a wolf…_ **

 

"But that wasn't the _deal!"_ Lance cries, frustration mixing with denial. "We did it! Revealed the truth! Made them see! So you should be _you_ again! Why aren't you _you!"_

 

 ** _I knew you missed me,_** Keith jests, somehow finding the strength to laugh. **_You're not as good at hiding it as you think..._**

 

He trails off as his head lolls, almost slipping from Lance's lap. 

 

"No, no no!" Lance feels his pulse race in frenzy, desperately shaking Keith awake with both arms wrapping securely around his neck. "Don't close your eyes! You have to stay! You can't _leave me like this!"_

 

Keith's eyes glisten as they stare up at him, and the bastard has the audacity to _smile!_

 

**_I don't think I'll ever leave you, Lance. Not really…_ **

 

"You _know_ that's not what I mean-"

 

 **_I know,_ ** Keith sighs, and for a horrifying moment, he doesn't say anything else. But then he hums a short laugh, shoulder tensing as he does. **_I want to apologize to you, Lance._ **

 

"For what?" Lance whispers back, tears clinging to his lashes. "You've done nothing wrong."

 

 **_My mother would deny that,_ ** the boy chuckles, rolling his eyes, but his tone grows serious as he continues. **_You see, when I first saw you, I assumed you were like the rest of the folk south of the mountains. I figured you'd need my help fixing things. Saving the wolves, making the people understand...I didn't think you could do it on your own._ **

 

"I _can't_ do it on my own!" Lance confirms shamelessly, reaching into his pocket and holding out the wooden wolf for Keith to see. It's almost ironic how similar the two look - both broken and wrapped in the colours of his clan. "I _do_ need your help! Now more than ever!"

 

 **_Oh, hey…_ ** Keith beams, momentarily distracted by the gift he had given. **_You kept it!_ **

 

"Of course I did..."

 

**_But I thought-_ **

 

"I was wrong," Lance murmurs, cutting him off as he stares down at the carving, recalling the question it had carried, the future he'd snubbed. "I thought I knew what I wanted, and I thought I could change my fate to abide by those wishes, but I only made a mess of things. I didn't see that it was already shifting - that the cogs of destiny were set in motion the _moment_ you stepped into my life!"

 

He cups Keith's face in his hands as best he's able, running his thumbs along silver cheeks as his own grow damp with tears.

 

 _"You_ were the change I needed, Keith! The path I had to take! And I'm _so sorry_ that my selfishness dragged you into this, but, to be honest, I don't really regret it-"

 

 **_I don't either,_ ** Keith chuckles lowly, leaning into Lance's touch. **_If I could go back, I'd find you in that kitchen all over again, even if I knew this is how it would end-_ **

 

"It's _not_ ending," Lance shakes his head roughly. "You're going to be fine. They're getting you help as we speak! Just _hold on!"_

 

Keith chuckles, inhaling roughly as the shadows grow shorter with the rising sun. 

 

 **_I'm glad you kept it_ ** , he admits - voice growing faint in Lance's head. **_And I'm glad I was wrong about you. You're going to do wonderful things for this land, Lance, and you're more than capable of handling it on your own-_ **

 

"But I don't _want_ to handle it on my own!" he argues childishly, collapsing forward to cling to Keith's neck. "I still have so much to learn, and _you're_ supposed to teach me! You're supposed to _be_ there with me! How am I supposed to go out and defend wolves when I can't even save the one I care about the most?!" 

 

There's a pause, and then a genuinely shocked:

 

**_You care about me…?_ **

 

"Of _course_ I care about you!" Lance exclaims without thinking, the filter on his emotions broken as he lifts his head to stare down into glistening amethyst eyes. But he's speaking from the heart now, and it apparently has a lot to say. 

 

"How could I _not?!_ You're one of the kindest people I've ever met! _Truly_ kind, but fairly so. You judge others based on their actions, not their words. You protect those who need it regardless of who they are or what form they take...and I respect that _so much!_ I respect _you_ Keith! Because you're exactly who I want to become! Brave and selfless and strong...you do what's right no matter the consequences, whereas _I'm_ just a coward who turned to magic to get what I wanted. I'm...I'm no better than Zar-"

 

 **_You're_ ** **nothing** **_like him!_ **Keith tries, but Lance only shakes his head. He's not done yet, and the floodgates are already open. 

 

"You showed me what it was like to live freely. To _choose_ freely. And you showed me what true responsibility looks like, and the differences I'm capable of making given my position in this life. But more than _any_ of that, Keith, you saw me for _me!_ You looked past the crown and the title and the stereotype I embody and _found_ me. And you _liked_ me! For whatever reason, you actually thought I was worth your time! And Keith, I-" but he stumbles here, unable to say it despite his whole body screaming the words. But it's too hard. It's not _fair._ So he wipes his tears with the back of his hand still clutching the wooden wolf. 

 

"You make me laugh, Keith. You're funny and charming and sweet...you constantly surprise me with the things you do and say. And I have _so much_ to apologize for that I haven't yet! So you _have_ to stay, if only for that!"

 

**_You have nothing to-_ **

 

"I do, Keith," Lance argues stubbornly. "So much. Like misjudging your intentions, believing the lies about your family, _turning you into a wolf!!"_

 

Keith snorts a pained laugh, nestling his head closer. 

 

**_I forgave you for that ages ago._ **

 

"But you shouldn't have," Lance sighs in defeat. "Because I pushed you away. I wanted to hate you - almost convinced myself I did - and you didn't deserve my animosity. And now I feel like I wasted so much time being a _pig-headed idiot_ for not seeing sooner how much I need you...how much I _rely_ on you, how much _more_ we could have done together had I not been so focused on changing my fate! But I know now, Keith. I've realized how much you mean to me.

I made my _choice,_ and you're it! So you can't leave me! You can't-"

 

 **_Shh, Lance,_ ** Keith murmurs sweetly, purple slipping away as black begins to seep into his irises. He's fading, losing himself as the spell sinks into permanence, and there's nothing either of them can do. **_It's okay. I know._ **

 

"No! You don't! How could you possibly- _"_

 

**_Because I love you too._ **

 

Lance gasps and freezes, mouth dropping open as the confession rings loud in his ears. He gapes down at Keith, who smiles as a single tear soaks into his fur. 

 

"But...how-"

 

 **_Like I said before,_ ** Keith whispers, smile lingering as his eyes begin to close. **_You're not as good at hiding it as you think._ **

 

And Lance is devastated as the last bits of violet vanish, breaking down with a sob as sunlight brushes innocently over Keith's fur. Their time has run out. It's over. Done.

 

_NO!_

 

Lance falls forward and clasps tight to Keith's neck, feeling the muscles in his body tense as the warm breath against his stomach stops. His crying consumes him, driving the air from his lungs as he gasps uselessly against thick fur. 

 

Because it can't be real. This _can't be happening!_

 

And this whole time...this _whole_ time Keith had been patiently waiting for him to clue in. To accept what he was feeling. Even with the arguments, and the fighting, and the insults and constant denial of the truth he'd _refused_ to believe, Keith had waited. Had _known!_

 

 _And now he's gone!_ a voice wails in anguish. _I couldn't save him! I couldn't break the spell and bring him back, like I promised I would!_

 

"I'm _sorry,"_ he manages to whisper against the onslaught of tears, body trembling under the immense weight of guilt. "I'm sorry I didn't realize _sooner._ But you're right.. _."_

 

_I love you..._

 

Somewhere someone speaks, but Lance doesn't hear them. He doesn't feel the wind pick up either, or the mist that circles as his father yells in warning. He cries as his heart throbs painfully in his chest. Cries as he mourns the loss of a fate _so close_ to fruition. 

 

Cries as a hand comes to rest on his shoulder, squeezing gently when he refuses to look.

 

And it's only when she speaks that he pauses his collapse, forcing himself to breathe as he lifts his head in response.

 

"That took you long enough," Allura grins teasingly, standing before him in a gown of pink. Her hair flows around her head in a majestic halo - tousled by a breeze that Lance can't feel. He's not sure if she's really there or if this is another bizarre waking dream that she's managed to slip into. But he _knows_ he's still conscious - the splitting pain in his chest a constant reminder - and he blinks his vision clear, frowning up at her when the mist settles as she lowers her arms. 

 

"Wh...how-" but he swallows his questions, anger surfacing as he gestures down at the direwolf he'd been cradling. However, there's no soft fur that brushes against his fingers, no more weight of a massive head on his lap, and when Lance jerks his gaze down he finds the space Keith had been empty. 

 

_No...NO!_

 

He scurries back, desperately searching the area, but all he sees is the other group staring dumbfounded at Allura, unable to cross the circle of mist she created around herself and Lance. 

 

"Do not worry," he hears her titter, following his gaze. "They cannot hear us-"

 

"Where is he?!" Lance demands frantically, interrupting her and getting to his feet with some difficulty. He only has _one_ priority and it's currently _missing!_ "Where did you take him?!"

 

Allura smiles, tilting her head up towards the sun. Lance grits his teeth, knowing what she means by the gesture. 

 

"But we _did_ as you asked!" he strains, hands flailing above him in exasperation. "We _solved the riddle of the wolves_ and told the truth! What more did you want! What did I miss?!"

 

She hums to herself, stepping forward and bending to collect something from off the ground. Lance feels his chest tighten, watching her hold up the wooden wolf wrapped in blue, not realizing he'd dropped it in his panic at finding Keith gone.

 

"You know, when you first came to me your thoughts were a battlefield to maneuver," she begins, tracing the lines that Keith's knife had so intricately carved. "You had no idea what you desired, or how to change your fate, and the demands you made reflected that. Shallow, temporary deviations from a role you were destined to fill."

 

"But you said no fate was set in stone!" Lance defends, storming forward with a finger pointed her way. "That it could change in a second!"

 

"I did, because it can," Allura shrugs. "But many paths lead the same way, like stones rolling down a mountain. How they reach the bottom is impossible to tell, but the fact remains that they all will, eventually. _You_ were a stone, Lance of clan McClain, who wished not to fall, but to fly."

 

"You're not making any sense-"

 

"And neither were your thoughts when you stumbled into my home," Allura cuts him off, voice holding an edge that has him flinching. "So I read the desires of your heart, and based your spell on that."

 

Lance can't think of a way to respond that would accurately describe his shock at hearing _that_ , and he ends up staring at the Altean in bewilderment as he juggles between betrayal and fury.

 

If she notices she doesn't react, turning her attention back to the wolf in her hand. 

 

"Your thoughts craved many things," she states matter-of-factly, "but in your heart, it was clear what you needed most. To be accepted, to be heard, to be yourself and admired for it. _That_ is what my spell granted: a way of bringing such desires into your life."

 

"But-" Lance sputters, mind whirling in disbelief, "what about Zar of Kon, and the wolves, and _being the voice for those without-"_

 

He breaks off as Allura laughs - dainty and pleasing despite his annoyance at hearing it - and folds his arms over his chest.

 

"I fail to see how this is _amusing!"_

 

"Ah, well, you are _human_ after all," she answers, wiping a fake tear from her eye. Apparently he'd missed some inside joke, but he doesn't care enough to understand it. Allura sighs, rolling her eyes at his lack of reaction. "The wonderful thing about magic, Lance of clan McClain, is that it is capable of many things. I realized as you left the potential your path had, and merely _steered_ you in a direction to accomplish another task. Consider it a detour-"

 

"You did _what?!"_ Lance exclaims, reaching for Keith's knife. Because if what she said is true - that she added more problems for him to solve simply because he _could_ \- then that means he wasted precious time running around the woods with Keith's life at stake! And she has the _audacity_ to _smile_ about it?!

 

"So the whole thing about seeing past battles old was just...just an _errand?!_ The truth we almost _died_ finding was a favour to you?!"

 

"The business with Zar of clan Kon has always been one of my... _messier_ dealings," Allura admits, though her voice doesn't carry much remorse. "But he was a broken man when he came to me, and his heart was shrouded in hatred. I never imagined the destruction that misguided loathing would accomplish. And then _you_ came along, sent by fate herself to-"

 

"Clean up after you?" Lance snarls, adjusting his grip on the knife. He wouldn't actually use it - especially on someone he knows is perfectly capable of turning him into a moth - but it grounds his anger. Focuses it, like a lightning rod in a storm. "That must have been awfully _convenient-"_

 

"It was!" Allura agrees, failing to grasp the sarcasm. "And you did _marvelously!_ Absolutely splendid! Already I can feel the winds changing with the minds of those gathered here today - hear the stories that will follow when you leave this place. They have learned and will now spread the truth of this day, and your name will be on the tongues of many."

 

"But that isn't what I even _asked_ for!" Lance fumes, biting the side of his cheek to keep his emotions tipped towards anger. "All I wanted was to avoid marriage! To change my mum...and maybe you're right in saying there was more to it than just that, but...but I thought I was figuring things out! And if you brought K-" but he chokes on the name, unable to say it as he stares at the place he once was. He closes his eyes for a moment and inhales unsteadily before going on.

 

"And if you planned for us to meet and sent us on this _quest_ to fix your problems, why isn't he back! Why did you let him fade away! _Why did you take him from me?!"_

 

Allura watches him for a long moment, smiling knowingly as her gaze drops down to the carving she still holds. She brings it up closer to her face, holding it flat in her palm and patting the top of its head with her other hand. 

 

"There was one truth missing," she sighs dreamily, fingers moving to brush against the strip of cloak Lance had used to bind the pieces together. "And only when you finally allowed yourself to accept it did the spell break."

 

Lance frowns in confusion as she toys with the small knot in the tartan, mulling through her notoriously cryptic remarks.

 

 _Which truth?_ he thinks back to mere minutes earlier, but everything is a haze of emotion. He remembers tears falling and his heart breaking as purple eyes slowly slide shut. And then he hears the words repeat: the sentence that he'd barely had time to process.

 

_'Because I love you too'._

 

Lance's pulse flutters - face heating and eyes wide as he stares down at the spot Keith had been when his heart had shattered. And then his knees grow weak as he remembers his _own_ words, his own _truth!_ And the realization that came too late…

 

"The son of Kogane was correct," Allura smirks, eyeing his blushing cheeks and stupefied expression. "You _aren't_ very good at hiding it."

 

He doesn't answer. There are no words, only dumbfounded understanding. And with a chuckle Allura approaches and takes one of his hands.

 

"It was close," she warns, handing him Keith's gift and removing the blue cloth. Lance expects it to break apart - other hand jerking up to catch the pieces in anticipation - but the wolf carving is whole. The crack down its center fixed, almost perfectly restored save for a slight discoloration in the right shoulder where the wood is darker than the rest. Lance stares in wonder, too scared to touch it lest it crumble in his palms.

 

"There was much to heal," Allura continues, stepping back with a proud grin, "and not even _my_ magic can erase the traces of every wound, but the child of Kogane is strong. And his will is nearly unbreakable. He is a good choice, Lance of clan McClain, and I see much happiness waiting in your future."

 

Lance blinks up at her, brows raised as he stands in stunned silence. Because... _what?!_

 

Allura giggles, grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning him around. 

 

"The sun has risen, young Highness! A new day begins." 

 

Lance squints against the blinding light shining down on them in a spectacular dawn, lifting a hand to shade his eyes as Allura nudges him forward.

 

"Go on now," she whispers, but he barely hears her. He's too focused on the figure outlined by the sun, slowly standing and blocking out the rays. 

 

Lance feels his breath hitch in his throat - the ball of emotion he'd been trying to suppress quickly rising as he recognizes the tartan wrapped around wide shoulders, the right one marked with a new line of bright pink. His legs start to tremble when he sees black hair framing a fair-skinned face, an older scar running up the side of an otherwise smooth cheek. And he nearly faints when he sees violet eyes blink over at him in surprise, thick brows lifting in excitement with a wide grin, revealing a set of dimples that he'd almost forgotten about. 

 

"Lance!" Keith yells, taking a wobbly step towards him. But Lance is already running, tears springing to his eyes as the space between them vanishes. 

 

He collides into Keith with enough force to knock them both over - arms taking the brunt of the impact as they wrap around him tightly. But Lance doesn't feel any pain as they land, too overjoyed by the laughter in his ear and sensation of hands on his back to allow much else in. 

 

"Woah! I take it you're glad to see me?" Keith teases between giggles, lifting a hand to ogle the fingers of his hand. "Had I known you'd react like _this_ I would have- Lance?"

 

He breaks off as Lance sobs into his neck, hot tears soaking the tartan granting Keith his dignity. But he can't seem to stop crying. Everything is spilling out uncontrollably - his fear, his frustration, his relief, his _exhaustion._

 

But more than anything he's happy. Too happy for words. Too happy to do anything but squeeze a little tighter, breathing in Keith's _human_ scent.

 

 _He's back!_ his thoughts cheer in unison. _He's really back!_

 

He feels a tap on the back of his neck, but shakes his head and nestles in closer. He's not letting go yet. Not after _all that._

 

"Okay," Keith chuckles lightly, and in one fluid motion he sits them up, keeping one arm secured around Lance's waist whilst the other moves to keep the tartan secured. "But you know I don't like seeing you so sad."

 

"I'm not," Lance gurgles incoherently, making a noise halfway between a sob and laugh. It's weird hearing that voice filtered by the outside world, no longer projected in his head. And in a way Lance kind of misses the direct line he had to Keith's thoughts.

 

He shifts his head enough to glance down at his wrist where the turquoise stones used to sit, realizing he must have dropped _those_ as well during the encounter with-

 

_Hold on-_

 

Lance jolts upward abruptly, whipping around to face the spot Allura had been, but all that remains is a single flower with vivid pink petals 

growing in the center of the circle of stones, something he's _sure_ wasn't there before.

 

"What is it?" Keith asks frantically, grip tightening in response to the sudden motion. "Lance-"

 

"Nothing," Lance sighs, smiling as he shakes his head. "Just the wind."

 

He's not about to thank Allura just yet - what with all the trouble she's put them through - but he _does_ allow himself to release some of his anger towards her, sinking back into the warmth of Keith's embrace. 

 

Everything seems a tad more forgivable now that Keith is back, and he turns around to face him with a wide smile, breath catching at their proximity. 

 

Because, _wow_. He already knew the boy was handsome - what with his high cheekbones and sharp jawline, long lashes and thin rosy lips, soft black hair that ends in loose waves around his shoulders… And _gosh._ Those are nice as well! And _bare!_

 

_Look at how thick his arms are! And the definition of those muscles? Are you kidding me?? Was he always this big and grizzled?!_

 

Lance feels his ears burn as his eyes wander shamelessly over every inch of revealed skin, completely losing track of his thoughts until Keith clears his throat a smidgen too knowingly. 

 

"Enjoying the view?" he smirks, and Lance leans back and drops his gaze lest he gets trapped in those eyes he knows so well. 

 

"I was just checking to make sure you were _actually_ okay," he lies easily, moving his attention to the new scar on Keith's shoulder. 

He traces over it gently, flashing back to the blood that had coloured so much of the ground red. And his tartan too, if he recalls correctly, but Allura must have fixed that as well because Lance can find no stains on the wool - all reminders of Keith's near-death experience removed. 

 

"Does it still hurt?" he whispers, glancing back up to Keith's face to gauge any reaction from his prodding. 

 

"Not...actively," the boy answers, tilting his head to try and look at the mark. He moves his shoulder at the same time, rolling it back and forth with a frown. "I mean, it _looks_ and _feels_ healed, but the pain is so fresh that I keep remembering it and thinking it's still there, you know? It's like my brain hasn't caught up to my body just yet."

 

"And speaking of-" someone announces from off to their side, both turning to find Shiro and Lady Krolia running forward with wide grins. With Allura gone, the mist circle preventing their approach must have disappeared, and Lance can see the others slowly recovering from the whirlwind experience in various states of bewilderment.

 

"-you're showing off a _lot_ of yours," Shiro finishes as he reaches them, draping a cloak over Keith's shoulders. Lance flushes, recognizing it immediately.

 

"I hope you don't mind," the man winks, noticing his reaction. "I didn't think to pack any extra clothing, and your cloak was just _laying_ there on the ground so…"

 

"It's...fine," Lance manages, feeling his flush creep down his neck. There's a significance in the innocent gesture that he doesn't _dare_ bring up, but any hope of preventing the butterflies in his belly are thwarted as Lady Krolia joins in.

 

"I don't think either mind," she simpers, nudging into her nephew's side. "And doesn't Keith look just _dashing_ in the McClain colours?" 

 

"I was thinking the exact same thing!" Shiro plays along. "Blue really compliments his complexion, wouldn't you agree? If _only_ there was a way we could incorporate the colour into our _own_ family tartan…"

 

 _Oh, Morrigan take me,_ Lance shrivels inward, knowing what's being hinted. It's a custom tradition for couples from separate clans to merge their tartans after marriage, either by adding lines of each colour to an existing pattern or choosing the blended hue each colour makes. 

 

 _And purple is nice enough,_ some domestic side of Lance pipes up as the rest of him dissolves in embarrassment. _It would match his eyes!_

 

He coughs as he shoves aside the thought, thinking it best to shimmy off Keith's lap and return to his own feet lest the teasing worsen. 

 

He'd forgotten that _all_ of his actions had been visible to the others. Whatever magic Allura had cast only prevented them from approaching and hearing their conversation. There was nothing established that kept them from witnessing the events unfold.

 

_Which means everyone saw me bawling my eyes out and toppling over Keith despite him being half-naked…_

 

 _Oh, Morrigan strike me down where I stand...how_ mortifying! 

 

But as awkward as he feels, Lance knows he wouldn't have reacted any differently had he been aware of their audience. Seeing Keith back - not only in human form but _alive_ and well - really only had one warranted reaction. 

 

Still, his heart is pounding as he brushes himself off, but at least he's not the only one flustered. 

 

Keith's face is a vivid red, and he avoids Lance's gaze as he turns to scowl up at his family, pulling the cloak tighter around himself in defiance of their innuendos.

 

"Ah, you frightened them," Lady Krolia coos, reaching down to help her son. "We didn't mean to interrupt such a tender moment-"

 

"For Gane's sake, Mother!" Keith grumbles, taking her offered hand regardless. She hoists him up and quickly envelops him in a hug that Shiro joins, smoothing back Keith's hair as only a mother is permitted to do. "Don't _ever_ do anything like that again, do you hear me? And who gave you permission to turn into a direwolf, of all things? I don't recall being asked beforehand! Next time, consult with me first!" 

 

Keith nods obediently, tossing Lance a wink and rolling his eyes at her conflicting orders. She continues to scold him quietly before fussing over his new scar, but when Lance tries to back away and grant them some space she draws back and grabs his arm, pulling him into the embrace.

 

"And where do you think _you're_ running off to?" she exclaims, ruffling his hair as he's squeezed tight by _someone_. He thinks it's Keith, if the responding snicker is anything to go by. 

 

"I expect a lengthy explanation from you both," Krolia goes on, patting the top of his head. 

 

"Yes ma'am," Lance answers.

 

"And a promise to come _directly_ to me if this happens again."

 

"Yes ma'am," he repeats at the same time Keith groans.

 

"You think we want to go through all of _that_ again?" 

 

"Don't give me attitude," she warns playfully, hugging them both tighter. "I've never been more worried in all my life."

 

Lance lets himself sink into the embrace for a moment of pure bliss, making a mental note to gift her something fancy as an apology for almost losing her son. He pulls back after a moment with a grateful smile, but it drops when he finds tears glistening in Krolia's eyes.

 

"Thank you for saving my son," she murmurs softly, teasing tone replaced by something more sincere. She cups his cheek with her hand, tracing her thumb along the marking under his eye. "From the entire Kogane clan, _thank you._ We are forever in your debt."

 

He can't think of a way to respond to such an honourable statement - wanting to argue it by saying he was the reason Keith had been in danger, to begin with - but now doesn't feel like an appropriate time to dive into the details. So he settles on bowing his head and swallowing thickly, stepping away with a nod. 

 

She smiles and turns back to Keith, wrapping him up in another hug that he protests weakly but doesn't fight. Shiro whispers something to him that has the boy swatting his arm in annoyance, face blazing as he tries to deny whatever had been said.

 

And it's cute, seeing Keith so carefree and reactive - equally as expressive as he'd been in wolf form. The blushing is new though, and Lance suppresses a laugh as the boy turns five different shades of red within the span of a minute.

 

 _That will be fun. I wonder how dark I can get those cheeks..._ he thinks slyly, jumping when someone clears their throat behind him. 

 

He whirls, fearing he'd spoken aloud, but relaxes when he sees his father standing behind him.

 

"Dad! How are-" but he breaks off abruptly as his father pulls him into a bone-crunching hug, lifting him slightly off the ground in the process.

 

"I'm sorry," he confesses without letting go. "I should have listened to you! I had no idea about...about _any_ of it!"

 

"It's- okay," Lance huffs, ribs burning. His father eases up a bit, setting him down and holding him at arm's length. 

 

"It's _not_ okay!" he guffaws, eyes moving up and down in search of injuries. Lance squirms self-consciously - knowing he's filthy and battered and bruised - and his father absorbs it all with a heavy sigh. "How is _any_ of this okay?!  You could have _died!_ Multiple times! What in Brighid's name were you thinking?!"

 

"I-"

 

"You directly disobeyed me _several_ times!" the reprimand continues, his father not releasing his grip. "Running off into the face of danger as if unafraid of death...I was trying to _protect_ you, Lance. Why didn't you let me-"

 

"Because I had someone to protect as well," Lance explains calmly. He knows he's in trouble. Knows he'll likely be punished for putting so many people at risk. But it wasn't like his actions were without reason, and though it pains him to see his father wince with every movement - several ribs likely broken from his fall - Lance would never have forgiven himself had he not fought back.

 

He turns his head to look back at Keith, who catches his eye and flushes pink, and feels himself smile.

 

"And there's no other choice I'd want to make."

 

His father grunts, following Lance's gaze and lifting a hand to rub at his temple. 

 

"That's a whole other matter we need to discuss," he grumbles, but there's a hint of a smile on his lips as he pats Lance's shoulder and motions Keith over. The boy's eyes widen comically, staring at Lance and then approaching cautiously after an encouraging shove from his mother.

 

"Keith of clan Kogane, yes?" his father asks, and Keith nods, keeping a respectable distance between himself and Lance. "I owe you an apology."

 

"Uh- _what?"_

 

And his father crosses his arm over his chest, dipping his head before sinking to one knee.

 

"Forgive me," he announces loudly, and Lance withholds a snort as he watches Keith's horrified expression. But then again, it's not every day a king bows to another. "I acted rashly in defence of my people, and had I listened to my son, I would have understood - at least to an extent - the situation at hand." 

 

He raises up, extending a hand that Keith takes after a moment of startled hesitation. 

 

"I'm glad I didn't kill you, and I'm sorry I tried to. It takes a brave man to stand up and defend those who judged unfairly, and I hope you give me the chance to understand you better in the near future."

 

"Of course, yes," Keith stumbles, but he quickly regains his composure and nods firmly. "I look forward to it."

 

His father beams, pulling Keith forward in the same boisterous hug he'd given Lance. The boy yelps as he's lifted off the ground, and Lance is there to catch him when he's finally released.

 

"You okay?" he whispers with a laugh, helping him stand as he stumbles free from the embrace. "He can get a bit carried away..."

 

"I mean," Keith murmurs back, clasping tight to his arm and grinning. "I definitely prefer your hugs-"

 

"Ah," his father groans, clutching his side and wincing. "Probably shouldn't have done that-" 

 

He breaks off suddenly, expression devious as he notices their exchange.

 

"I see you've accepted the union," he smirks, nodding at the blue tartan Keith still has wrapped around him. He glances over at Lance with one brow raised. "Your mother won't be impressed that she missed such an integral moment of the hunt-"

 

Lance almost chokes, lapsing into a coughing fit as his father laughs heartily - Keith frowning in confusion as he stares between the two. 

 

"But I approve!" his father goes on, landing a large hand on Keith's shoulder and nodding enthusiastically. He leans in then, lowering his voice as he glances over at the other lords hovering behind him. "To be honest, I was kind of hoping it would be you," he confesses to Keith, who awkwardly chuckles as he shares a knowing look with Lance. "Though our two clans have had their differences, I've always respected the Kogane's. I look forward to the joining of our families-"

 

 _"Dad!"_ Lance hisses, rushing forward to cover his mouth with both hands. But then Lord MacDonal pipes up, having crept close enough to eavesdrop.

 

"Blasphemy!" he declares, moving to address Lord Gunderson and Chief Garrett. "Did you hear that?! Angus thinks this _changeling_ won-"

 

"Oh, hush, you old fool," Lance's father harrumphs, turning to face the man with a tired groan. "The hunt is over. Done. You saw it with your own eyes!"

 

"But the Queen said it was postponed until the prince returned-"

 

"And?" his father challenges, pointing back at Lance. "Is he not here?"

 

Lord MacDonal reddens, folding his arms over his chest. 

 

"Well..yes but-"

 

"But nothing," his father cuts him off. "We all saw the black devil fall. It counts in my books. And besides, it was not the suitor from clan Kogane who won. It was my son, Lance of clan McClain, who felled the beast."

 

There's a beat of silence - Lance blinking as he processes the words of his father - and then everyone turns to stare at him expectantly.

 

"Uh...um-" 

 

"Lance - who pledged to fight for his own hand - is the winner of this annual hunt," his father comes to his rescue, stepping forward with arms wide as he addresses the small group gathered before them. "The _last_ annual hunt, I might add."

 

 _Dad_...Lance smiles, feeling Keith nudge into his side.

 

"Though I await further clarification on the specifics of what we encountered this night," the man continues, "I trust in my son and will abide by his wishes. No more wolves are to fall by human hands. Unprovoked killings will no longer be tolerated. And my son - Lance," and he motions him forward, wrapping an arm proudly around his shoulders, "will be allowed to choose for himself who he wishes to marry, if anyone at all."

 

Lance can't think of what to say - too stunned by what he's hearing to formulate a proper thanks - but he's saved from having to try as Lord MacDonal makes his disagreement known.

 

"Let _him_ decide?!" he yells, hands tossed above his head. "You're leaving the future of our kingdom in the hands of an indecisive _child!?"_

 

"That's enough, Jamie-"

 

"And what of tradition!" Lord MacDonal goes on unhindered, ignoring his king. "What of the partnerships and the recognition of the other families! What of the _bonds_ between clans-"

 

"Oh, come off it Father," a voice calls out: Adam sauntering up the hill towards them. He grins when he sees them all safe, waving at Lance and Keith from across the way. "I apologize for being unable to find anyone to help, but I _am_ glad I returned just in time to hear this utter nonsense-"

 

"Silence, boy!" Lord MacDonal fumes. "Arranged marriages between clans are the way of this land, even before we were united against a common foe! They're the only way to build _strong_ , lasting relationships between families!"

 

Adam only rolls his eyes and moves towards Shiro, completely ignoring his father as he reaches up with both hands and kisses the man full on the mouth.

 

Pidge cackles wildly as Matt applauds, Lady Krolia hiding a smile as she steps away from the two.

 

"Oh, for Gane's sake," Keith mutters with a soft chuckle, leaning into Lance's side subconsciously. "So much for keeping it a secret."

 

They break apart a moment later: Shiro pleasantly dazed as Adam takes his hand and turns back to face his father smugly. 

 

"I think we're perfectly capable of doing that on our own," he states with a wicked smirk, one brow raised in challenge. "We don't need some outdated ritual to decide our fates. At least, not anymore."

 

Lord Macdonal's face is steaming as he bobs in place, frantically searching for something to say. But his jaw remains clenched tight as he ogles his son, who shrugs and winks over at Lance.

 

"I agree that the prince should be free to choose for himself. Both his allies _and_ his lovers-"

 

"Or just his friends!" Matt pipes up, saving Lance from drowning in embarrassment as Keith hides his face in his hands. "But I also agree!"

 

"As do I," Pidge adds, Lord Gunderson nodding at them both.

 

"Well, if those are their wishes..."

 

"Then I support it as well," Chief Garrett nods. "Hunk would also agree, were he here. And I want my son to be happily in love with the person he ends up with, not bound to a stranger out of obligation."

 

"Then it's settled," Lance's father declares, stepping towards Lord MacDonal and smacking him on the back in camaraderie. "It's time we move away from the past. No more meddling in the love lives of our children! No more hunting wolves for sport! And no more magic," he adds, throwing a meaningful look over at Lance and Keith. They both snicker but nod, wholeheartedly agreeing.

 

"Good. Then let us return to the castle and drink in celebration!"

 

A loud cheer follows, and Lance laughs as Lord Gunderson and Chief Garrett flock over to help his father and poke fun at Lord MacDonal, teasing them both about having northerners steal away their sons.

 

Lord MacDonal grumbles and waves them off in annoyance, but he doesn't seem as upset as before, which is a relief. The last thing they needed was a declaration of war between their clans. 

 

But Adam is right. They're perfectly capable of making and maintaining bonds without relying on marriage - of choosing for themselves which paths they forge - and as the group begins to traverse down the hill away from the towering stones, Lance reaches out and takes Keith's hand in his own. 

 

He doesn't say anything as the boy beams over at him with rosy cheeks, nor when his fingers are squeezed tightly as Keith leans his head against his shoulder. 

 

They're both too exhausted to do much else but sit together at the foot of the hill, waiting for the others to retrieve the horses who had fled into the forest. But it's nice. Comfortable. And in the time it takes for their mounts to be found, Keith falls asleep nestled beside him, snoring fitfully in their shared warmth. 

 

But Lance doesn't mind. He keeps their hands entwined, the other tucked in his pocket where a wooden wolf is stored, and when they're ready to leave he insists they stay together.

 

He doesn't trust that this isn't all a dream, and fears that if he lets Keith out of his sight for even a moment, the boy will disappear again. 

 

No one argues his request, thankfully, though Shiro insists on being the one to move him, not believing Lance's claims that he's uninjured and therefore able to do it himself.

 

Keith grumbles sleepily as he's lifted, but Kalte makes it easier by kneeling for them, whinnying excitedly as she stands and follows the others down a path Pidge and Matt had found. 

 

 _It's finally over,_ Lance sags in relief, wrapping his arms around Keith to take the reins. Soft, black hair brushes against his chin as the boy sighs dreamily and sinks into his chest, and Lance feels his heart hum fondly. _He's actually back..._

 

A light breeze shimmies through the leaves to brush against his face, and Lance glances over his shoulder to follow it back to the Witch's Crown in the clearing behind them. The stones are still eerie but not unnatural in the brilliant light of day, and if one didn't know any better, they might think the odd structures to be entirely normal. Just old, decaying rocks circling a hill. 

 

No mist creeps up the slopes. No shadows linger in the trees. No wisps hover in the distance, waiting to guide him elsewhere.

 

And Lance smiles. 

 

_Good._

 

He turns away, focusing on the path ahead as he urges Kalte onward. There's no need for him to look back anymore. No desire to seek or find or change anything else. 

 

He's content with the fate he's chosen: heart beating with a purpose, finally in tune with his thoughts. 

 

And though he's grateful to Allura for the lessons she helped him learn, he _really_ hopes he doesn't see her anytime soon. There's been enough magical meddling in his life to last a hundred years, and Lance is tired.

 

_So tired._

 

But despite his current stance on the matter, he knows he and magic cannot truly go entirely separate ways. There's still so much he has to do - to change - and the Altean will have her own agenda that will undoubtedly overlap with his. 

 

But that can wait. 

 

For now, he will rest. Recover. Begin mending their histories and rewriting their teachings one story at a time.  

 

There are still truths to be learned of all that wanders the woods, but with Keith at his side, Lance will find them. Understand them. 

 

And be the voice for those without. 

 

 _But first I'll rest,_ he decides, leaning his cheek against the top of Keith's head. He inhales the familiar scent of wood smoke and soil, almost missing the underlying traces of wolf. 

 

 _Almost._  

 

He chuckles weakly, feeling his eyes grow heavy as the breeze comes back to wish him one last goodbye.

 

 _You'll be back_ , it seems to say, carrying a laugh he doesn't really hear. _We'll meet again._

 

It passes by with a lingering touch - blowing faster as it breaches the canopy above - before howling like a wolf as it spreads across the valley. 

 

The wind gusts as it races towards the mountains, holding a promise of what's to come, a message for anyone listening. That the fates have changed. The nightmare is over. 

 

And a new day has dawned.

  
  
  
  
  



	12. Epilogue

The days pass like a fever dream.

 

When they arrived back at the castle they were bombarded with questions - both boys overwhelmed by the noise and commotion of an entire entrance hall of people demanding answers. Hunk and the group he had managed to persuade to abandon the hunt were the most curious, all vying for his and Keith's attention until his father was forced to intervene. 

 

"Answers will come in time," he'd stated, pushing the crowd back. "But we are all tired. Let us discuss this tomorrow."

 

And just like that, the first day had ended - Lance and Keith guided to a separate room where Olkari had checked their wounds and diagnosed their dehydration and sleep deprivation, as well as mended several cuts and bruises. Lance doesn't recall much else after that, figuring he'd passed out at some point during the examinations. He'd woken up sometime later in his own bed - a bowl of soup waiting by the fire that he'd promptly devoured before falling back asleep.

 

He doesn't remember dreaming, but if he did, they were gentle and didn't wake him. 

 

The second day he'd risen early, but so had the rest of the castle, apparently. The entrance hall was bustling as he'd made his way down, and it had taken another intervention by his father to keep everyone calm. 

 

And that's when their story was told in full for the first time. 

 

Both he and Keith were corralled into a private meeting room with the leaders of each clan, and with a nod from his father, Lance explained it all. There were certain parts he'd kept to himself - like why he'd left and the person he'd _meant_ to change - and other parts where he'd smudged the details for the sake of dignity, but with Keith pitching in his own version of events every so often, the two were able to accurately describe the events of their journey. 

 

And surprisingly, their audience had been receptive. There was no arguing the magic of Allura's spell, nor the mechanics of the mist and the distances they had travelled. No one batted an eye at the mention of wisps, or the talk of Alteans.

 

The only real negative reaction they received was a mild scolding on the dangers of abandoned keeps, which was given after Lance recounted his and Keith's near-death experience on the Isles of Kon. 

 

A bizarre point to pick, but Lance assumed it was only because wandering into empty buildings was one of the few mundane things the two did, and thus the _only_ part of the story the adults felt authoritative enough to lecture them on. 

 

So Lance accepted it, reaching for Keith's hand beneath the table, where they'd remained entwined for the rest of the meeting.

 

Hours later, once all the details had been sorted, the leaders had all turned to the king and asked what should be done. There was a heated debate at one point regarding the extent of the wolf hunt restriction, but in the end, it was decided that no killing would be tolerated unless it's in self-defence. 

 

Lady Krolia had then given a brief speech on wolf protection measures each clan could take - such as how to herd livestock to prevent attacks, what places to avoid at certain times of years, and lastly, how to read wolf behaviour to better understand them.

 

Lance had nudged Keith at that point, whispering something about being an expert in that field already. The boy had responded with a laugh that he wasn't quick enough to disguise, which had landed them _another_ mild scolding on the importance of educating the people of this land. 

 

It had been a long, tedious meeting, but it had resolved with the promise of change and several new regulations to be put into action. A vote was also cast for the annual hunt, and it was decided that the festival part would remain, as would the focus on celebrating the friendships between clans. But the actual _hunt_ part of it would be removed, replaced by more venues to show off various skills of whoever wished to enter and compete. 

 

It was also suggested that the hosts of the festival change each year, so that those unable to travel would be able to attend at one point or another. It was renamed to the Festival of Change as well, both to symbolize the shift in seasons and to commemorate the events that led to their meeting in the first place. 

 

Overall, it was a thrilling success, if Lance was being honest. He'd meant to celebrate with Keith on their own, but that plan had been foiled as his father had pulled him aside, asking he go and retell everything to his mother. 

 

"She needs to hear this from you," he'd said firmly. "All of it. Even the parts you left out."

 

Lance had been shocked by that, thinking his aversions of including his mother as the main catalyst for all of this had been decently done, but his father must have known better.

 

"You read like an open book, my boy. I know there is more you are hiding, but that's between you and her. Go now."

 

And Lance had, waving solemnly to Keith as he'd left, off to tell the whole story a second time, but this time without the filter. 

 

And _that_ discussion had taken most of the night. 

 

She'd fussed over him for a solid hour before finally sitting down and letting him talk. And...it had been awkward, confessing that he'd sought magic to help his cause, to change her so his fate would be his. But rather than react with anger and hurt, she'd only pulled him into a tight hug, rocking him gently back and forth.

 

"I'm sorry," she had whispered, a tear streaking down her cheek. "I'm sorry that you felt you had to rely on otherworldly magic and dangerous spells in order to make me understand you. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Lance. To listen when you needed it. I've failed you as a mother, but I sincerely hope you can forgive me one day."

 

Which had _really_ made everything more emotional, and the two had spent a good part of the evening just crying together as Lance told his side of things. 

 

But laughter had eventually followed - the good, full-bellied laughter that often comes after the shedding of tears. 

 

They'd spoken of wolves, and wisps, and the strange nature of Alteans. His mother was oddly informed about them, making Lance curious as to if she knew any.

 

But she had only winked and smiled, saying that was a story for another time. 

 

And then the topic had shifted to Keith, and though Lance had been hesitant at first to say much about the boy, with some gentle prodding he'd let it all out. 

 

His feelings. His reluctance in admitting them. His fears and his anxieties and eventually, his love. 

 

And his mother had listened intently to it all, grinning and hugging him giddily. 

 

"So I won't have to scrap this after all!" she'd beamed, nodding over to the unfinished marriage tapestry hanging in the corner. "And I get to use _red_ thread! I'll have to have some made now that I know-"

 

But Lance had interrupted her there, grabbing her arm to rein her back in.

 

"I appreciate the thought, Mum," he'd chuckled with heat in his face, "but not yet. One day, maybe, when I'm ready...but not yet."

 

And she'd blinked, briefly crestfallen but smiling in the end, and nodded. 

 

"Alright then. Not yet."

 

He'd left not long after that, wanting nothing more than to find Keith, hear his voice, see his face...but it was late, so he'd gone to his own room and fallen asleep.

 

His dreams were more colourful that night. Blue and red and purple. Sweet dreams. Kind dreams.

 

He'd woken late the next morning to a knock on his door, finding Shiro and Adam waiting on the other side.

 

"We want to know _everything,"_ they'd urged, tones teasing. Keith had _blissfully_ come to his rescue before they could pry too much, taking his arm and pulling him away from the two.

 

"Piss off, you lovebirds," he'd grunted, not without humour. "And go find a dark corner to taint."

 

"Ah, funny," Shiro had smirked, wrapping an arm around his cousin's shoulder. "But see, now that the entire _kingdom_ knows about us, we don't _need_ dark corners anymore."

 

"Right!" Adam had pitched in, cozying up to them both. "We can be affectionate _wherever_ we like! Aren't you _jealous-"_

 

He'd been saved from a punch to the gut by Hunk rounding the corner, followed by Pidge and Matt, and once they saw Lance and Keith, any plans of escape were spoiled.

 

But it was okay. The group had made their way down to breakfast, exchanging jokes and plans for their future. But soon their attention returned to the direwolves, and once again the story was repeated, this time with knowing glances and jests shared amongst friends. 

 

Keith and Lance were red-faced and awkward by the time it was finished, which Shiro and Adam were quick to poke fun of. But it was all in good faith, and before their questions could grow _too_ intrusive, an assembly was called.

 

Everyone - from clan members to visiting families to the common folk attending the festival - were all gathered in the main hall, where Lance's father made the amendments to their laws and put forth their new rulings. 

 

He then took questions - each and every one - and answered them as best he could. If he was unsure of one, he'd turn to Lady Krolia for advice, particularly any that revolved around wolves. But anything pertaining to the fae was left for Lance to attempt answering. It was difficult, trying to persuade the people that the lessons they grew up with were based on fabrications of the truth, and though he tried his best, many kept their suspicions of the mystical beings in the woods. 

 

But their stubbornness only made him realized how much work there was to do still - how much time and effort it would take to change things. And rather than discouragement, Lance was filled with motivation to keep going. To keep trying. 

 

And when the last few people trickled out of the hall at the end of the day, he'd glanced over at his father and smiled, realizing he'd found a purpose he hadn't been looking for.

 

"I'm proud of you," his father had winked, standing with a groan. "But sitting for so long is so _boring._ Let's say you and I spar a bit-"

 

"You'll do no such thing!" his mother had cut in, pointing a finger at her husband. "You have three broken ribs and a mild concussion! You need to rest. And did you drink the herbal tea Olkari made you?" 

 

"It tastes of dirt…"

 

"Angus, for Brighid's sake! It does _not."_

 

Lance had laughed as his father grumbled and whined, happy to know he wasn't the only one who his mother was capable of scolding. He'd excused himself then, spotting Keith on the far side of the hall. But before he could reach him, a hand had tugged on his pant leg, and when he'd looked down he'd seen three identical faces staring up at him.

 

 _Morrigan take me_ , he'd thought as his sisters pulled him towards the library, demanding he tells them about the wisps. Keith had watched and laughed, and when Saoirse noticed, she'd ran over and grabbed his hand, yanking him along as well. 

 

Lance had smirked as Keith tried to escape, but the girls were relentless, immediately situating themselves around him after finding a cozy place to sit. Saoirse additionally insisted on sitting in his lap, which was altogether too cute for Lance to handle. But it made his heart sing seeing Keith like that - cast in the soft light of the fire - smiling and laughing with ears of bright pink. 

 

And when their eyes met it was like he was back on top of Marmora's Blade, drinking the fire waters and feeling like he could fly. Keith had flushed but held his gaze, and the two likely would have stayed that way for a long time had the girls not _loudly_ cleared their throats demanding attention. 

 

"Alright, alright," Lance had chuckled, and for what he'd hoped would be the _last_ time, their story was told, only with a fairytale flair to keep the triplets engaged. 

 

And it was refreshing, really. They'd oohed and awed where others had worried. Laughed and giggled where before there'd been gasps. They'd asked questions neither had heard before, such as how it felt to be a wolf, if howling was as fun as it sounded, and what colour Allura's eyes had been so they could draw her later. 

 

But they were _most_ interested in Kosmo, who Keith told them about after a question regarding wolves in the north. The idea of having one for a pet - despite Keith's insistence that he _wasn't_ \- was too much for the girls to handle, and they'd spent the rest of the evening interrogating him on the pups he had rescued. 

 

Lance had gladly listened, shuffling closer as Keith enlightened them all. But the lull of his voice, coupled with the heat of the fire, soon had Lance drifting off, and before he knew it, he was asleep on Keith's shoulder, roused gently by a kiss to his forehead as someone carried him off to bed.

 

He woke up in his room, alone and blushing, feeling the lingering tingle of lips against his skin. And he swore that _today_ he would find the time for them to be alone. No more distractions. No more interruptions. 

 

Just the two of them, so they can talk. 

 

Because with the festival over and the days growing calmer, the clan leaders are gearing up to return to their homes, and the Kogane's will be the busiest of them all.

 

His father had appointed Lady Krolia and her kin with the special task of visiting each city and town and village to spread what they'd learned, encouraging acceptance over ignorance of the new laws. But Lady Krolia has her own clan to run, so Lance knows the work will likely be carried out by Shiro and Keith. And _Adam_ as well, apparently, who had informed Lord MacDonal he would return in the summer if he felt like it. 

 

But even with Adam's help, it'll take a long time for them to travel the entire country. Months...years even. And though Lance _knows_ he'll see them again, he doesn't know when, or under what circumstances.

 

So he needs to speak with Keith before he leaves. Tell him how he feels, for real this time. Out loud. So that he knows whose heart he carries with him as he spreads the truth they'd learned. 

 

He jumps out of bed, dressing quickly before sneaking out into the hall. He makes his way down to the guest wing, inhaling deeply before knocking on the door to the chambers the Kogane's had been given. 

 

And he waits.

 

And waits.

 

And knocks again, louder this time. But no one answers. 

 

_Where in the-_

 

"Lance?"

 

He whirls, finding Keith standing at the end of the hall - hair tied back in a low ponytail. He looks bright-eyed and well-rested, wearing his clan colours as he approaches with a toothy grin.

 

"Oh, hi-" he starts, backing away from the door awkwardly. "I was just, um-"

 

But he cuts off as Keith hugs him, freezing in his arms for a split second of surprise. He thaws quickly though, giggling before returning the embrace.

 

"Hi," Keith murmurs into his neck, pulling back but keeping his arms wrapped around him. "What are you doing here?"

 

It takes a moment for Lance to respond - mesmerized by those amethyst eyes for the countless time - but he's able to control himself long enough to formulate an answer.

 

"I was looking for you," he confesses. "I...well, I have something to tell-"

 

"Prince Lance," Lady Krolia suddenly appears behind them, followed by Shiro. The two pause as they see the half-hug being shared, each raising a brow until Lance flushes, pulling away.

 

"Are we interrupting?" Shiro teases, and Lance quickly answers 'no' at the same time Keith grumbles an annoyed 'yes'.

 

Lady Krolia sighs and rolls her eyes, walking past them to her room.

 

"Apologies, Highness. But you must excuse us. We have to begin packing up to return home-"

 

"Wait," Lance gapes at her. "You're _leaving?!"_

 

She nods, glancing over at Keith before continuing.

 

"Yes. Unfortunately, I must return to my clan, as do the other leaders. We were in a brief meeting with the King this morning to go over the specifics of his plans, and will leave early on the morrow."

 

Lance is speechless, staring wide-eyed at her in disbelief.

 

_Because leaving?! So soon??_

 

Shiro approaches then, resting a hand on his aunt's shoulder.

 

"But we can handle it, right? We don't need Keith's help to pack."

 

"Hey!" Keith grunts in offense, clueing in a second later as to what Shiro is implying. _"Oh._ Right."

 

He turns to his mother then, smiling innocently up at her. 

 

"Please? It's my last day..."

 

She huffs but nods, and before Lance can thank her, Keith grabs his hand and bolts down the hallway, leading them away. 

 

"We leave an hour after dawn tomorrow!" she calls after them as Shiro snorts, but Keith doesn't pause to answer. His grip is tight in Lance's, and when they round the corner he starts laughing, pulling them into a doorway to rest.

 

"So," he grins, lifting Lance's hand to place a soft kiss to the back of it. "What did you want to tell me?"

 

He's whiplashed through several emotions, from elated to disheartened. There was a fleeting moment of bliss when Keith had taken him and ran, but it's fading now as Lance recalls that this is their last day together for who _knows_ how long. He thought he had more time, which feels like a recurring mistake these days. 

 

So in the end, he settles on hesitant, unable to say what he'd been meaning to just yet. Not here, anyway. Not like this. 

 

"Um...I was just wondering if you wanted to check out the festival with me," he averts, disappointed in his cowardice. "I know it's over and everything, but a lot of the tents and activities are still set up…"

 

He half-expects Keith to deflate, or reject such a lame idea, but the boy grins and nods eagerly, reminding Lance of his dimples.

 

"I'd love that!" 

 

"Oh...really?" Lance questions, before shaking his head and smiling back. "Nevermind, let's just go before someone else tries to ask us about direwolves and wisps."

 

"Ah, but you're so good at telling the story," Keith teases, keeping hold of Lance's hand as they return to the hall and make their way to the back fields. "I especially like whenever you talk about me-"

 

"Oh, I'm _sure_ you do," Lance grunts fondly, pausing by one of the windows. He smirks then, releasing Keith's hand to pry it open. 

 

"What are you doing?" the boy questions, tilting his head to the side. But instead of answer, Lance climbs through, resting his feet on the ledge outside. 

 

"It's a shortcut," is all he says, shimmying along the outer window before climbing down the side of the wall. He lands at the bottom with a flourish, glancing up at Keith and raising a brow. "You coming?"

 

Keith chuckles, shaking his head and muttering something under his breath. But he crawls out just as Lance had, though instead of climbing down, he drops down from the ledge, holding onto it with his hands. 

 

And then, like some sort of mad man, he pushes off the wall with his feet and jumps backwards, flipping in the air and rolling out of his fall. He stands a moment later - face flushed and bangs loose from their tie - and bows dramatically. 

 

Lance gapes over at him in stunned awe, crossing his arms over his chest as Keith brushes himself clean. 

 

"Showing off already?" he muses, ruffling thick black hair as he walks past. "We haven't even made it to the festival yet." 

 

"You speak as if I _won't_ use every opportunity to impress you," Keith follows, hooking his arm through Lance's. It brings them closer than holding hands would, and Lance's heart flutters spastically at their proximity.

 

 _Tell him,_ some part of him whispers.

 

 _Not yet,_ he hushes back. _I might ruin things if I tell him now…_

 

So he keeps quiet as they make their way to the fields where the festival was _meant_ to be held, wandering around the empty stalls and imagining everything lit up and bustling. 

 

There are a few people doing the same as them, who Lance and Keith avoid just in case they're recognized - making a game of sneaking past their groups or hiding in plain sight. 

 

It ends when Coran is spotted chatting amiably with a man Lance thinks might be the local barkeep, and both boys decide it's best to leave lest they're discovered goofing off. 

 

They walk through the town after that, stopping by the shops and the bakery whilst talking of everything and nothing, careful to draw up their hoods in the more crowded areas. 

 

At one point a crown of flowers lands on Lance's head, and he nearly combusts as someone giggles from the window they were passing beneath, knowing what's meant to happen next. 

 

But the festival is technically over, and with Keith watching him with such clueless adoration, Lance uses that excuse to ignore the tradition and hurry them off. 

 

"What was that all about?" Keith asks as they go, thankfully ignorant. "Are you allergic to flowers or something?" 

 

"It's nothing," Lance murmurs, removing the crown when they're far enough away. He stares down at it with a smile tugging at his lips, and then promptly places it on Keith's head. The boy's ears turn pink, matching the colour of the petals stark against his hair. "Just a custom of the festival."

 

 _One I've always wanted to try, but never could. And now that I_ can _, I'm too nervous to do it..._

 

"Oh? And what does it mean?"

 

But Lance only shakes his head with a sly grin.

 

 _Not yet,_ he repeats, emblazoning Keith's image into his memory. _Just wait._

 

"Nothing much," he shrugs, leaving the boy hanging. "You'll just have to come back next year and find out."

 

"Or _you'll_ come to _me,_ " Keith simpers, poking his chest. "Since the festival has an equal chance of being hosted in the North as it does here."

 

"Then you'll have to make your _own_ traditions," Lance fires back. "You can't take all of _ours."_

 

"I've already taken your prince," Keith shrugs nonchalantly, waltzing past Lance with a coy wink. "And I'm sure he'll tell me _anything_ , with enough... _gentle_ persuading."

 

Lance swallows thickly as Keith shimmies away - flower crown tilted to one side. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, reminding himself to wait once again before taking Keith's arm and steering him elsewhere. 

 

They end up at the training grounds, where Lance cools down by showing off his skills with the bow, Keith applauding every bullseye. 

 

"Do you wanna try?" he offers when his quiver is empty, handing the weapon over. "I can show you-"

 

"I know how to shoot," Keith grumbles with a grin, taking aim. "I'm very skilled. Multidimensional, remember?"

 

"Oh yes. How could I forget."

 

"Well then, allow me to remind you-" 

 

He releases, and Lance barks a laugh as the arrow goes sailing beyond the target. 

 

"Amazing. Wow. I'm astonished by your skills," he jests when he's calm enough to speak, chuckling intermittently as Keith frowns and tries again. "You _sure_ you don't want my help, oh _mighty_ warrior?"

 

"I'll get it! Just wait." 

 

And he draws back again, releasing and sagging when the arrow follows the same trajectory as the first, not even sticking in the ground as it bounces and lands a fair distance away. 

 

"Curse this stupid bendy stick!" he flushes, reaching for his belt. "Throwing daggers is a _much_ more refined skill anyway-" he pauses when his hand passes over what he'd been about to grab, frowning in confusion. 

 

"Hey, where's my-" but he breaks off, eyeing Lance's own belt and grinning. "Ha...I see you kept my knife safe, as you promised." 

 

Lance feels his cheeks instantly heat as his gaze darts down to find where Keith is referring, finding the uniquely coloured weapon sheathed at his hip. 

 

_Morrigan take me! Why do I still have this!?_

 

He reaches for it in a panic, scrambling to give it back in his embarrassment.

 

"I'm so sorry! I completely forgot it was there and I _meant_ to give it back, it just slipped my mind and-"

 

"Keep it," he hears, stilling when Keith's hands come to rest over his. 

 

"Wha- I can't _keep_ it! What are you talking-"

 

But Keith only laughs, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Lance crystallizes under his touch, unable to breathe even as Keith draws back to stare at him fondly.

 

"Keep it," he repeats in a low tone, thumbs brushing over his fingers. "To remember me by."

 

Something inside Lance cracks, but the sensation of it allows him to recover from the kiss and inhale unsteadily. 

 

 _Right..._ he thinks in despair. _He's leaving soon…_

 

His gaze drops down to the knife, voice barely a whisper when he speaks.

 

"I don't need anything to remember you by. How could I ever forget..."

 

A finger lifts his chin - Lance raising his head to meet Keith's purple eyes. He feels the urge to cry wash over him, which he suppresses by biting the inside of his cheek.

 

"Keep it anyway," Keith murmurs with a gentle smile, though it quickly transitions into a knowing smirk. "You'll need it to fend off the many suitors who'll come for your hand after I go-"

 

"Ha!" Lance guffaws, shoving the boy lightly and rolling his eyes. "So it's a claim then! A way to show I'm already taken!" 

 

Keith turns a brilliant red, ducking his head in a way that tells Lance his joke might have hit closer to home than he'd been anticipating. 

 

"Is...that what you want?"

 

Lance blinks, taken aback, and Keith clarifies hastily. 

 

"I mean, it's just...you already know how I feel and-...and if you _wanted_ to say you were taken I would be _honoured_ , but I don't want to pressure you or anything, especially if there's someone else-"

 

Lance silences him by pressing a finger to his lips, entire face on fire as he struggles to contain himself. How he manages to is unknown, but he steps back a moment later and takes Keith's hand in his own, turning to lead him elsewhere.

 

"Lance…?"

 

"Follow me."

 

The boy does, trailing after him without speaking. Lance can feel the air between them growing tense, but he won't let it settle. He's pushed it off too long now, and with the sun setting in the sky he knows his time has come. 

 

_I'll tell him. I have to._

 

He guides Keith to one of the farthest guard towers bordering the forest - currently empty and dark - and then climbs up the outer ladder leading to the roof. 

 

Keith follows him in silence, waiting for Lance to sit before doing the same. He keeps a respectful distance between them - unsure of himself after Lance's odd behaviour.

 

They don't speak for a few minutes - instead watching the sky turn orange and pink as the sun readies for sleep. And when the first stars begin to appear in the navy above, Lance sighs, ready at last.

 

"You asked me a question once," he begins, keeping his gaze forward. He sees Keith shift in his periphery, head tilting in thought as he goes on. "And I answered harshly. I didn't know you. I didn't want anything to do with you. And I didn't want what you were offering."

 

He sighs then, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing the carved wooden wolf, mended by magic and symbolic of so much. He holds it tenderly in both hands, lower lip quivering as he eyes the discoloration where Keith's wound had been - where his scar is now. 

 

"I know now, Keith, how important you are to me. How much you _mean_ to me. How far I'd go to be with you. And…" and he takes a deep breath here, lifting his gaze to glistening purple eyes. 

 

 _Do it_ , his thoughts scream.

 

 _Now!_ his body urges.

 

 _Go on,_ his heart soothes, beating softly in his ear. A breeze dances through the trees, rustling branches in encouragement. 

 

 _He already knows,_ it seems to say, which gives Lance the last push he needs to confess. Because it's true. Keith already knows. 

 

But it's still something Lance wants to say out loud - to validate and confirm, announce for all to hear. And he feels himself smile as the wolf grows warmer in his palms, reaching out to take Keith's hand in his own.

 

"I love you."

 

There's a long beat of silence as Keith stares back at him, processing what had been said with painful tardiness. But he grins abruptly, and before Lance can realize what's happening he's being kissed. 

 

And...woah.

 

His eyes flutter shut as Keith's mouth presses hotly down on his own, feeling arms come to wrap around him, fingers moving to card through his hair. 

 

His entire body is on fire - but it's addicting. Pleasantly overwhelming. The butterflies in his stomach are rioting in his gut, pulse beating in rhythm to each flap of their wings. But he's not the only one, and where his hands press into Keith's chest - smothered as they are between them - he feels an equally pounding heart drumming loudly in sync with his own. 

 

Lance loses himself to it, vaguely comparing it to the rush he'd felt after drinking the fire waters, but it's really not the same at all. Kissing Keith is more amazing than feeling the wind in his hair as Kalte races through the woods. More gratifying than shooting an impossible shot and watching it hit. It's better than a warm blanket on a cold night, or a satisfying end to a good book. 

 

And as it deepens, Lance comes to realize he doesn't have a feeling that can rival it. It's entirely new, filling a category of its own in the spaces of his heart.

 

And he decides that kissing Keith is like Keith himself: wild and unexpected and...well.

 

_Multidimensional._

 

It ends all too quickly as Keith pulls back for a breath - Lance not even realizing he was lightheaded until the world comes spiralling back. They clutch each other tightly, _needily,_ foreheads touching as Keith leans in.

 

"That took you long enough."

 

Lance gasps at the familiar sentiment, having heard those exact words from Allura the last time he confessed, but Keith doesn't seem to hear. 

 

He laughs gleefully, kissing the tip of Lance's nose before sitting back.

 

"Do you know how long I've been wanting to do that?" he asks teasingly, shifting his hands to rest over Lance's. He pauses when they touch the wooden wolf, and then his brows lift as he moves to pick it up. "Basically since I gave this to you."

 

 _"What?"_ Lance flushes with renewed vigour, chest tightening. "There's no _way_ you- I mean, it doesn't make sense-"

 

"Well, it fluctuated," Keith shrugs, tracing a finger over the intricate details he'd so thoughtfully brought to life. "But knowing what I do now, I really should have just done it."

 

"Pfft, as if I'd have let you," Lance scoffs. "You _did_ ask for my hand at a _very_ bad time."

 

"And what about now?" 

 

"Huh?" Lance blinks, thinking he'd misheard. But Keith is smiling knowingly, holding out his gift for Lance to take.

 

"If I asked you again," he suggests, biting his lower lip nervously, "what would you say?"

 

Lance struggles for a long moment to make sense of Keith's proposition, working through the implications and finding it harder and harder to breathe. He manages to swallow with some effort, holding Keith's gaze as he answers.

 

"I'm terrified, Keith," he hushes honestly, mind blank as his heart does the talking, "that I would say yes, which is why I don't want you to ask." 

 

Keith's face falls, but before he can reach his own conclusions, Lance takes his hands and folds them over the wolf, gently pushing it back to its maker.

 

"There's a part of me that's still not ready," he admits softly, keeping his tone light so Keith doesn't assume the worst. "There are things I need to work out  - wrinkles that need smoothing…"

 

"What if I like those wrinkles," Keith murmurs, and Lance snorts.

 

"You know what I mean," and he sighs, reaching out to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Keith's ear. "Besides, you're leaving tomorrow. I don't want this to be rushed or...or us to regret-"

 

"I'd never regret it-"

 

"Can I finish?" Lance grins, moving his hand down to cover Keith's mouths. The boy pouts but does as told, waiting for Lance to continue. 

 

"I'm not saying no, Keith. But I won't say yes either. Not yet, anyway. We have too much to do in the meantime, what with _you_ going off to inform everyone about wolves and _me_ doing whatever my parents have planned…" he groans and huffs a short laugh, laying back on the roof to stare up at the stars. "Just give me some time, okay? The next time we meet I'll have a better answer."

 

Keith doesn't say anything for a few beats - attention on the carving he still holds - but then he takes Lance's hand and flips it over, dropping the wolf into his open palm.

 

"Alright," he whispers, eyes dazzling in the dusk. "I'll wait for you. But you're keeping this as a promise, okay?"

 

"I just said-"

 

"I know," Keith waves him off. "But if I'm going to propose to you again it'll be with a proper ring. Not some mouldy piece of wood I found on the ground-"

 

"Hey!" Lance sits up, clutching the gift protectively. "Don't insult it! I happen to _love_ this mouldy piece of wood!" 

 

"More than me?" Keith teases dangerously, hovering down over him and blocking out the sky. But Lance doesn't mind. He can see the stars in Keith's eyes, even as they slowly close when the space between them dwindles.

 

"Almost as much," he hushes right before their lips touch, humming happily in his favourite, newly discovered feeling. 

 

But sure. He'll keep the wolf as a promise then, not that he needs to make one in the first place. Lance knows the moment he sees Keith again he'll be a goner. Never wanting to let him go. 

 

Which is why he can't let Keith ask him so soon, because Lance wasn't lying when he said he needed to work on himself first. Despite Keith's insistence of his perfection, Lance has a lot of growing up to do before settling into marriage. He needs to get to know the person he's becoming before trusting himself to another. 

 

Not that Keith wouldn't cherish him and keep him safe and loved, but it's a personal vendetta that Lance needs time to conquer. 

 

But he will, eventually, and when he does he'll wrap Keith in the colours of his clan, where they'll remain until they make a tartan of their own.

 

For now, though, Lance will indulge in the sensations of kissing Keith, finding that the act disobeys time. Hours pass that feel like minutes, and it isn't until someone calls their names that both boys realize how late it's gotten - moon shining brightly above them and casting the world in a silver glaze. 

 

They hurry back - giggling uncontrollably as they sneak in the same way they'd gone out - ransacking the kitchens before making their way up to their rooms. 

 

And here they kiss one more time before parting, Lance knowing his resolve will turn to ash if he asks Keith to stay with him for the night. 

 

But his promise has already been made, and he closes the door to his room before he has time to change his mind.

 

_Besides...tomorrow he'll be gone. I have to brace myself for that._

 

He goes to bed but doesn't sleep for a long time - anxious and restless and buzzing with all this extra energy he doesn't know what to do with. And right when he actually _does_ manage to pass out, the sun wakes him in what feels like a second later.

 

But he rises easily - the nerves he'd managed to suppress for whatever meagre amount of sleep he'd achieved coming back in full throttle. 

 

He dresses and skips breakfast, making his way down to the docks to say his goodbyes prior to the official send-off.

 

_Because knowing my luck I'll end up crying. It's best to get that over with first._

 

Four ships are waiting when he arrives - crews bustling around as clan members from each invited family make their way on board. Each sail is emblazoned with its own crest - beautifully stitched into thick fabric - but Lance is only interested in one right now. 

 

He spots the runic wolf head of the Koganes and makes his way towards it, but he pauses his advance when he sees his father stepping off the ship with Lady Krolia behind him, talking in low tones.

 

"Dad?" he questions, watching him jump and whirl to face him. He glances back at Krolia and holds up a finger, before walking down the docks toward him. 

 

"Lance! What are you doing here so early?"

 

"I could ask the same of you," Lance answers, hands moving to his hips. His gaze drifts back to where Lady Krolia had been standing, but she's gone now, likely returned to help load her ship. 

 

His father follows his stare and then blinks in surprise with a laugh.

 

"Oh! _No._ No no. Nothing like that," he assures, patting Lance's shoulder. "We were discussing our plans, that's all."

 

"I thought you already did that," Lance pushes, and his father smiles as if hiding a secret. 

 

"There was a... _recent_ change that needed addressing. Lady Krolia was the one to suggest it, and it took a _great_ deal of negotiating on her part to make it happen."

 

 _Suggest what?_ Lance frowns, but he loses interest in asking when he notices Keith step off the ship with a wide grin.

 

"Lance!" the boy calls out with a full-bodied wave, charging down the docks toward him. Lance braces for impact as his father steps back with a chuckle, but rather than collide, Keith stoops and lifts Lance by the waist, spinning him in a few dizzying circles before putting him down. 

 

"Hi," he beams, arms lingering as he leans back. "I missed y-"

 

 _"Ahem_ , _"_ Lance's father clears his throat, eyeing Keith keenly until the boy steps back an appropriate distance. Lance huffs and flushes, motioning for his father to leave them for a moment. 

 

"Right," he agrees after a pause, shooting one more meaningful glance Keith's way. "But remember, announcements will be made shortly. _All_ announcements."

 

Keith nods with a wink Lance almost misses, watching the king make his way over to Lord Gunderson, and before Lance has a chance to pry he's wrapped up in a kiss that leaves his mind blank. 

 

Nothing else exists. Not the people around them, or the sounds of waves against the wood. The docks on which they stand vanish beneath them, and Lance is floating blissfully away up into the sky, like a puff of air exhaled on a cold morning. 

 

Keith hums against him - lips vibrating with either a suppressed laugh or a content sigh. Lance doesn't ponder which, feeling the desire for both as well, and lets himself be taken away. 

 

It's only a temporary retreat from reality, but it's much needed and warmly welcomed, and Lance briefly wonders what it would be like to wake up to this daily. 

 

"Woah," he murmurs when they break apart, finding his hands have dug their way into Keith's clothing. He lets them drop with a muffled yelp, but Keith takes them in his own and keeps him close, resting their foreheads together in a gesture Lance is quickly coming to adore. 

 

"How'd you sleep?" Keith asks, violet eyes watching him intently. 

 

"I didn't."

 

"Me either," the boy admits with a shrug. "I was too excited."

 

 _Excited?_ Lance tenses, resisting the urge to frown. _He's excited to leave? Am I the only one dreading this?_

 

Keith must sense his shift in mood, as he hastily tries to explain.

 

"Not like that! I meant like...I mean, I _am_ excited to go home and start all of this, but...but _you'll_ be excited too! I just can't tell-"

 

"Lance," his father calls over - a crowd gathered before him. Lady Krolia makes her way to join it with Shiro and several of their crew, giving Keith a look of warning as she does.

 

"Ack, _fine,"_ the boy harrumphs, placing a quick kiss to Lance's cheek. "You better go before your father gets impatient."

 

Lance panics, feeling himself be pushed gently toward the area his own clan is waiting. 

 

"Wait-!" he tries to argue, seeing his mother make her way down to the docks with a bundle in her arms. The triplets follow behind her, all dressed in blue tartan with their hair in loose braids. 

 

"Go on now," Keith urges, nodding once before disappearing in the throng of people. Lance watches him go in despair - that feeling of floating from before eradicated as he plummets to the ground. 

 

_But I didn't get to say goodbye!_

 

His melancholy is interrupted by Coran, who takes his arm and leads him towards his parents, who both nod and smile as he approaches. 

 

His mother shoots him a wink as his father raises both arms to address their invited guests, gesturing subtly for him to lift his chin,  straighten his shoulders, and smile.

 

Lance does the first two, but he can't bring himself to complete the third as his eyes find Keith in the crowd, watching him whisper something to Shiro with a dimpled beam.

 

_He doesn't look upset at all…_

 

"Esteemed comrades, gracious guests, and dear friends," his father begins - voice echoing out across the water. "It's been an unorthodox gathering, to say the least."

 

There's a round of agreement sprinkled with laughter, and his father continues. 

 

"But we have learned much, and I am eager to move into a future where our bonds are stronger, not only between our clans, but between all beings of this land."

 

Another cheer, which is heartwarming to hear. 

 

"If time allowed, I would have each and every one of you stay for much longer-"

 

"Don't lie, Angus," Lord MacDonal calls out, earning a louder laugh from those around him. 

 

"You know better than most how incapable I am of hosting any longer, after you raided the ale cellars last night," Lance's father fires back, smirking as Lord MacDonal raises an imaginary toast. "But honestly, you're all good people, and I'm looking forward to our shared future."

 

He extends a hand to each of the clans, addressing their leaders by title as they bow in response.

 

"Chief Garrett and his son Hunk of the Southern Valleys, may the waters favour your journey home. Lord Gunderson and his sons Pidge and Matthew of the Western Lowlands, may the wind fill your sails on the seas. Lord MacDonal of the Somerisles," and he pauses to laugh. "May your men compensate for rowing in your son's absence." 

 

"Ha," Lord MacDonal scoffs, glancing over to where his son's black tartan stands out amongst the red. "As _if_ that boy could row!"

 

"Rude," Adam grunts from beside Shiro, who wraps an arm around his shoulder with a chuckle. 

 

"And Lady Krolia of the Northern Spurs," Lance's father goes on, "who I've entrusted not only the most important task, but also the most important cargo for her journey back up the fjords."

 

A soft murmur ripples across the crowd as Lady Krolia bows, finding Lance's gaze and winking. 

 

 _What could she be carrying?_ he wonders, but then a hand lands on his shoulder, and he's pulled forward by his father.

 

"It will be the job of her kin to teach tolerance and spread the word of what we've learned here during this memorable festival. Shiro, Adam, and Keith will be the first official members of the Blades of Marmora, named after the shard where the fire waters flow."

 

There's a round of applause, and Lance himself gasps at the significance of the name they'll carry. Because it's perfect really: another story with twisted versions amongst each clan, which his father alludes to as he continues his speech. 

 

"Whether it was King Alfor or Prince Gane who first drank from those waters no longer matters, as these brave young men will be led by one who has conquered Marmora's treachery most recently. One who has united _all_ sides of our land, and may one day learn the truths of each legend carved into it."

 

He steps back then, leaving Lance standing alone in front of the crowd of people.

 

He glances around nervously, unsure of what's going on, of who his father is referring to.

 

_Am I supposed to call them up? But I don't know who it is?! I had no idea there would be another appointed...why did no one tell-_

 

"I present to you," his father announces proudly, thwarting Lance's panic, "Prince Lance of clan McClain: Ambassador for non-human folk, discerner of truth, and _leader_ of the Blades of Marmora!" 

 

_Uh...what now??_

 

He blinks in stunned shock as the crowd erupts with applause, cheering and whistling and waving as Lance stares out at them in confusion. 

 

_Me? But...I can't- I mean, I thought I was supposed to stay here-?_

 

He finds Keith grinning up at him, cheeks rosy and eyes glistening, and slowly starts to connect the dots.

 

His father on Krolia's ship, the so-called last-minute change, Keith saying he was excited to leave…

 

_It's because I'm going with them!_

 

He feels his own grin grow as Keith blows him a kiss, and then something heavy and warm is wrapped around him.

 

He turns, seeing his mother standing there, and a new, wool-lined cloak draped over his shoulders. It's a dark merlot colour, with a familiar rune stitched on the back in silver thread. He's seen it before, and with a startled gasp he realizes where, withdrawing Keith's knife.

 

Sure enough, it's the same symbol carved into the hilt - pointed and jagged and unique, like a stylized lightning bolt. But where would his mother have seen it? 

 

"Krolia suggested we use it," she explains, answering his unspoken question. "Apparently it's an ancient sigil representing strength in unity. I thought it would be a nice touch…"

 

Lance ogles its beauty, sheathing the knife to stare at her.

 

"But...mum-"

 

"It's cold in the north," she hushes, tone bittersweet as she brushes his hair back fondly. "You'll need to keep warm if you're to accept this title-"

 

She breaks off as Lance hugs her, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She reciprocates it just as enthusiastically, leaning back and wiping a tear from her cheek as his father walks over to join them. 

 

"Everything is already packed and boarded," he says, ruffling the hair his mother just smoothed. 

"If you wish to go, that is."

 

And Lance _does._ More than _anything!_ But-

 

"But I thought I had to stay here...I didn't think you wished me to leave-"

 

 _"I_ still don't," his mother offers, taking one of his hands in both of hers. "But it's not my choice to make."

 

"Mum…"

 

"Lady Krolia and Shiro made a strong case on you joining them," his father adds. "And it took a _lot_ of convincing to persuade your mother here, so you best thank them when you get the chance."

 

Lance nods, choked up and grinning. They pull him in for a hug that the triplets eagerly join, all squealing that they want to go too. 

 

"Absolutely not," their mother scolds, stepping back. "You're _much_ too young to be given so much responsibility. Your brother here has proven himself perfectly capable of taking care of himself and others, which is the _only_ reason I'm allowing this to happen."

 

The girls pout but seem to agree with her reasoning, and Lance bends to hug them separately.

 

"You can join me one day, alright? Work on getting taller first."

 

"There'll be more to it than that," their mother warns, handing him a basket as he stands. It's brimming with woollen clothing, including three additional merlot cloaks with the same rune on the back. "These are for the others. You'll look more official in matching uniforms."

 

"We appreciate it, Highness," Shiro speaks from behind them, taking the basket from Lance after a deep bow. "And we'll be sure to take good care of your son."

 

"The _best_ care," Adam adds, popping up beside him and pinching his cheeks. "We'll teach him how to survive the north-"

 

"That's rich, coming from you," Keith laughs, shoving Adam out of the way and taking the place by Lance's side. "Aren't you always complaining about the cold?"

 

"That's a tactic, my young, innocent friend. Especially on long nights when the fires have all gone out-"

 

"Alright," Lance's father interrupts Adam, likely guessing where he was going with things. He turns back to Lance and extends a hand, which Lance grips firmly. "I wish you the best of luck, son. Remember to write. We'll be watching the skies for your ravens."

 

"Thank you," Lance whispers, beaming as the crowd applauds again. "I'll do my best to make you proud."

 

"You already have," his mother murmurs, crying steadily now. "Just promise me you'll be safe-"

 

His father wraps his arm around her and pulls her close, kissing the top of her head reassuringly. 

 

"He'll be fine, love. He's wise and handsome and brave as his father-"

 

"Certainly as modest," she groans, looping her own arm around his waist.

 

"Yes well, the stubbornness he got from you," his father goes on. "Which will serve him well out there. Besides, he already took down the biggest thing out there! With _one_ arrow! And he's travelling with the _Koganes_ , for Brighid's sake! There's no one safer!"

 

"Well," Shiro mumbles, tucking his false arm behind his back.

 

"Right," Keith grunts, hiding his scarred cheek behind his hair. 

 

"He'll be well looked after!" Adam chimes in. "Shiro is a great diplomat, Keith is an adequate warrior-"

 

"I'm _more_ than _adequate-"_

 

"And I'm an expert navigator!" Adam cuts him off. "There's absolutely nothing to worry about if he's with us!"

 

"You got lost in the fjords, dearest," Shiro whispers fondly. "Which is basically a big channel with only two directions."

 

"I did _not_ get lost! Plus traversing them while trying to map at the same time is _very_ complicated! Those fjords are a nuisance and you know it-"

 

"Speaking of fjords," Lady Krolia approaches then, interrupting the discussion. "We should be going. It's a long journey home."

 

"Right, yes," Lance's father nods in agreement, addressing the crowd one last time. "Farewell to you all! May the winter be kind and the spring fast approaching, and may we meet again this time next year for the _first_ Festival of Change!"

 

The docks return to the same bustle and commotion from earlier as clan members board their respective ships. Hunk, Pidge, and Matt all come to say goodbye, each giving Lance a hug with well wishes and invites to their homes. 

 

And when they leave, Lance waves from the docks, grin a permanent fixture now that he and Keith are to stay together. 

 

He thanks his parents again as Lady Krolia prepares to go, hugging them and his sisters once more before taking Keith's hand and climbing onto the ship. He watches them as he leaves until they're specs in the distance, and then turns to Keith with a raised brow.

 

"So you knew?" 

 

The boy nods guiltily, ears pink.

 

"Mother didn't want me to ruin the surprise, but she told me last night. They discussed it all yesterday while we were out."

 

Lance shakes his head in disbelief, leaning against Keith as he stares out at his home. It looks small from this vantage point. Tiny. He misses it already, but his excitement outweighs all else. 

 

_Because I'm going! I can be with Keith, helping bring peace to all in this land! We don't have to part after all!_

 

"So…" Keith hums slyly, seemingly sensing Lance's thoughts as an arm sneaks around his waist. "Now that we get to stay together, does this mean I get to ask you sooner?"

 

"Perhaps," Lance hums back, knowing which question the boy is referencing. There's a weight in his pocket where his promise is sitting, and he pats it gently, beyond ecstatic to have both of his wolves so close. "But you already know what my answer will be."

 

"Maybe," Keith agrees, voice lowering. "But it would be nice hearing you say it out loud."

 

Lance turns in Keith's arms, reaching up to cup his face with both hands.

 

"And about my request?"

 

"I'll still wait," Keith murmurs, brushing the tips of their noses together. "But now I'll be with you. I can help you smooth out all those wrinkles you're so worried about, if you so wish."

 

"I thought you liked those wrinkles."

 

"Oh, I _do,_ but Lance-" and he reaches a hand up to brush under his eye, tracing over the scar there. "I love you now, and I'll love you then. Whichever version of yourself you decide to share with me, I'll adore, but I stand by what I said. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. And I'm a patient man. If you need time, you can have it. As _much_ as you want! Forever even-"

 

"It won't take _that_ long," Lance huffs, rolling his eyes.

 

"But even if it does," Keith continues, "I'll be happy as long as I can stay with you, by your side, waiting with a red tartan to wrap around your shoulders-"

 

"Red?" Lance laughs, head tipping back as his face turns the same colour. "Who said anything about _red?_ " 

 

"It's only fair," Keith teases, pulling him closer. "You got to see me in blue, so I get to see you in red. And my mother was _kind_ enough to explain what that means, by the way. So, _technically_ speaking, it was _you_ who proposed first-"

 

"Wha- that's not-"

 

"It's okay, Lance," Keith smirks mischievously. "I accept."

 

"Morrigan take me, is it too late to go back?" Lance grunts, trying and failing to escape. Keith hugs him tight, laughing victoriously.

 

"It's _much_ too late! You're stuck with me forever."

 

 _That's not so bad,_ Lance thinks, but he doesn't say as much, pushing back against Keith until the boy lets up. 

 

"Forever is an impossibly long time," he muses once released, and Keith exhales fondly. 

 

"And you can have all of it," he murmurs, voice soft. "All of it and more."

 

 _I won't take that long,_ Lance repeats, but it's endearing to hear Keith say as much regardless. So he lifts his arms to rest around his shoulders, letting his fingers run through thick, dark hair. 

 

"Thank you," he whispers, before leaning up to close the gap between them. Keith responds with a grin against his lips, holding him tighter as the wind whips around them. It's colder out on the open water, but Lance is warm in his new cloak, and Keith is an _excellent_ shield against the elements. He sighs as he practically melts into Keith's arms, not hearing the teasing cheers from Shiro and Adam, nor the airy laugh carried on the breeze.

 

There's only them and the moment they share - Lance's heart singing as he thinks of the many more they'll collect in time.

 

 _In time,_ he repeats dreamily, before losing himself to the bliss of kissing Keith. _Because we have so much of that now._

 

The wind pushes their ship onward, guiding it with encouraging gusts, and when enough momentum is gained and given, it circles high into the sky, howling euphorically as it races through the forests of the Highlands, beyond the Altea range, and across the Isles of Kon. 

 

A mist gathers as it blows, creating a thick fog that spreads out over the ocean. It swirls and twists and comes to rest all at once - revealing a circle of ancient stones standing in a clearing on a hill. 

 

And here the wind settles, waiting patiently for the next soul to wander into the woods with a misguided heart. To steer them down the right path. Help them find what they seek. Let them realize that _choice_ has more power in their lives. 

 

But until then, fate will rest. 

 

She closes her eyes and smiles, eager to see how the world will change in her absence. What decisions will be made. What outcomes will result. 

 

But she trusts the boy with the soul of a wolf, brave enough to face the darkness and find the light. She knows he'll do well. Knows he'll accomplish great and _wonderful_ things in his time.

 

 _Knows_ because she picked him. 

 

Because he was _her_ choice.

 

And fate knows - as surely as the wind sings with the voices of wolves and wisps - that she made the right one. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for sticking with me as I wrote this. It's been amazing writing Klance for you all, and I'm both excited and saddened that this will be my last fic of them.
> 
> Your support has been immeasurable and I'm so grateful to have had such amazing readers. You've encouraged me to develop my skills and push my creativity, and I've discovered a love of writing I didn't know I had because of it.
> 
> I wish you all the best in 2020, and thank you again for being an incredible audience.
> 
> And don't worry, we'll meet again someday. 
> 
> Love,  
> Vulpes--Vulpes

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me on my [tumblr](https://www.vulpes--vulpes@tumblr.com)  
> Thank you to [Shoshiserif00](https://www.shoshiserif00@tumblr.com) for editing!  
> See a map of the world [here](https://vulpes--vulpes.tumblr.com/post/184397505047/procrastinated-writing-by-making-a-map-of-the-of)  
> [Lance and wolf Keith](https://knoxursoxoffpenwriter69.tumblr.com/post/184722328025/for-vulpesvulpes-ive-been-wanting-to-draw) by the amazing [knoxursoxoffpenwriter69](http://knoxursoxoffpenwriter69.tumblr.com)


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